Broken Crown
by xtheGoldenEaglex
Summary: When her mother's sins are revealed, Kenna Baratheon is thrust into a world of treachery and deceit. Her uncles call themselves kings while her vile half-brother sits upon her throne, and Kenna learns quickly that nobody is going to hand her a crown. With a king rising in every corner, who would fight for a queen? Robb/OC
1. The Lonely

**_Author's Note: _**_This chapter is the longest chapter I've ever written, amounting to over 9,000 words! I'm planning on writing two or three chapters before the events of Game of Thrones, and they will probably have around the same word count. So, basically this story is about the daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister. That black-haired boy that Cersei told Catelyn Stark about in early season one survived, but was a girl. Hopefully everyone is in character during this chapter, not sure about Robert and Cersei. Bear with me for the first few chapters, because they might be a little slow, but it's all apart of Kenna's development as a character. I hope you enjoy this chapter, and make sure to review!_

* * *

**The Lonely**

Her daughter's hair was black, and sleek to touch. When she was upset, Cersei would let her eldest child lay her head upon her lap, and Cersei would stroke her hair gently. That seemed to be the only way to calm her for years. She had been a fussy babe, always crying and unsettled, but she mellowed. Kenna Baratheon was the opposite of her brother, Prince Joffrey, who had been a quiet, blissful babe, but even Cersei recognised that her son was slightly... uncontrollable.

It wasn't until Joffrey sliced open Kenna's cat, Lady Fuzz, that Cersei realised how cruel her son could be. But she still loved him fiercely, because Joffrey was her perfect son. The eldest child from her union with Jaime.

"My sweet, darling girl," Cersei cooed to her sobbing daughter. "I don't believe your brother meant to hurt you."

The words were lies, and Cersei knew it. Joffrey delighted in hurting his older sibling, and his younger ones too. There had always been competition between the two. Joffrey was jealous of how their father, the once great King Robert of House Baratheon, preferred his daughter over his son and heir.

Perhaps it was good that her son didn't love his siblings. Love was a weakness, but Cersei only wished that her other children wouldn't have to suffer.

"But he... he..." Another sharp sob escaped Kenna's throat, her body flinching violently. "He looked so proud, Mother. He said that he was d-doing Lady Fuzz and her kittens a kindness. I-I asked him why, and he said... he said th-that he was sparing them a life w-with me as their m-master. Am I really that horrid? Joff said I was. Is he right?"

_Children fight, _Cersei told herself. _It's normal. Joffrey and Kenna have a healthy dose of sibling rivalry. Jaime and I had it... it's normal. It has to be. _Robert called him a monster when Joffrey presented one of kittens to him, and he hit poor Joff so hard that he knocked out two of his baby teeth. Cersei wouldn't allow Robert to beat him. She would never allow him to beat _any _of her precious cubs.

"No, sweetling," Cersei said softly. "You're not horrid at all. Joffrey was just... he's just misguided. I'm sure that he will realise his mistake and apologise to you in the morrow."

"He won't say sorry," Kenna replied, bitterness laced in her tone. "Joffrey _never _says sorry. Not to me, not to Tommen, not to Myrcella. He ripped the head off Myrcella's doll once, and then he insulted her for crying. He was so mean, Mother, you should have seen..."

"You shouldn't speak ill of your brother," Cersei cut her off sternly. "He is to be king one day. A king deserves respect."

Kenna brought her head up from Cersei's lap, and narrowed her eyes at her mother. Though she had Robert's colouring, Cersei could see so much of herself in Kenna. Even at nine, Cersei could see that her eldest would blossom into a beauty. It was times like these, when Kenna would narrow her eyes and act stubbornly, that the queen felt like she was looking into a mirror.

"He's not king yet," she said, raising her chin proudly. There were tears stained on her cheeks. "He's only a prince. Father is king, and he even called Joffy a monster-"

"You shouldn't look up to your father," Cersei protested. She was worried about how much Kenna idolised her father. Nobody would want a drunken, loud fool for a wife. "He may be king, but he is not a good man."

"Why does he touch other women?" Kenna asked curiously, tilting her head to the side. "I see him, at the feasts, and he always kisses and feels the serving girls. Why does he do that?"

Cersei's pretty face was etched with a scowl. _Of course the children would notice. How could Robert be so careless? _Robert didn't think, and now his daughter was introduced much too early to how a man could treat his wife; like a disposable object.

She touched her daughter's cheek with her hand, and wiped away the dried tears. Her skin was wet from crying, and her eyes were red and puffy. Had it been under any other circumstance, Cersei would have scolded Kenna for crying. _Crying is for the weak, _she would have said, as she had said many times before, _and a princess is not weak._

"You need not concern yourself with such things, my darling," Cersei said. "All you need to know is that your father loves you, and _I _love you." She rose from her daughter's bed. The sheets were red for Cersei's house and black for Robert's, with some gold for both of their houses. "Get some sleep."

Kenna nodded, though she still seemed concentrated on why her father touched other women. Cersei smiled pitifully, sorry for her daughter and for herself. Her hatred for Robert increased more and more each day.

She went to find Jaime, to rant and rave about how horrible Robert was.

* * *

"I swear it, Jon, by the all the gods – the Seven, the old, the red, the purple – that boy is a monster."

Jon Arryn sighed. He couldn't deny it. Prince Joffrey was eight years old, and while most eight year olds preferred to play with wooden swords and pretend to be gallant knights, the prince revelled in opened in up his sister's pregnant cat and showing his father one of the kittens.

"I am sure he will grow out of it," Jon said, though he wasn't sure at all. "Perhaps if we were to employ another whipping boy..."

"No." Robert shook his head. "That won't work. Joffrey enjoyed watching the last whipping boy get whipped. Pare, was it?"

"Pate, I believe," corrected Jon. Since he became Hand of the King, he felt ten years older than his actual age. Ruling Seven Kingdoms _and _Robert Baratheon was quite tedious, even for a patient man like him. "You could try spending some time with him. He spends all of his time with his mother and siblings, that cannot do him much good."

Robert chuckled. "Anyone would turn out like Joffrey if they had Cersei for a mother." He quickly sobered, digesting what Jon had suggested. "No. I'm not spending time with that wretched boy. Why did the gods decide to curse me with Joffrey for an heir? I'd sooner name kitten-loving Tommen as my heir! Or even Kenna. Any of them, but not Joffrey."

"The laws of Westeros state that the eldest son must inherit his father's seat," Jon explained. "Only Dorne have a different custom. Joffrey is your heir. Nothing can change that. But Joffrey is young. He _can _be changed. If you were to just consider spending time with him..."

Robert's tone was much sterner and harsher than before. "_No. _Joffrey is a Lannister, through and through. Let him be groomed by those golden-haired brats."

"This is the future king you are speaking of," Jon said. "When you are dead, he will rule the kingdoms. Westeros does not need another mad king."

The king rolled his eyes. "You can rule for him."

"I might not last that long. I am an old man, Robert."

"You've been an old man for years," he replied, with a booming laugh. "The Wall will melt before you give into death."

Jon let a small smile come upon his face. He truly was not in a position to die at the moment. He had no heir, and the realm was in a fickle position. If Joffrey was to come to the throne any time soon, the realm would bleed. Jon would have to make it as secure as possible before then.

"We haven't spoken of your daughter's marriage in a while," Jon said. "Since you refused the Tyrells her hand."

Robert scoffed. "A cripple isn't good enough for my daughter. And the Tyrells are a scheming bunch of shit-stirrers. I'm not sending my eldest to a flowery snake pit."

During the rebellion, the Tyrells fought on the side of the Targaryens, something Robert had not yet forgiven them for. Jon believed that a marriage between the houses Tyrell and Baratheon would ensure the Tyrells loyalty, but Robert remained stubborn.

"You care for her," Jon noted.

"Of course I care for her. She's my eldest daughter!" He said it as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. But due to his dislike of Joffrey, Jon was unsure if Robert had any affection for any of his children. "And my only child who looks any bit like a Baratheon. The rest are yellow, just like their mother. Have you spoken to her, Jon? She's the sweetest child I've ever met. And proud, too. And stubborn as hell. What Joffrey did to her cat... I wanted to beat him bloody, and I would have, if Cersei hadn't stopped me."

"She and her brother don't get along very well," Jon said. He warily glanced to Robert, wondering if he would like what Jon was about to suggest. _Ours is the fury, _those were the Baratheon words. And Robert Baratheon was certainly true to them. "Perhaps it would be best if we separated them."

"Separate them?" Robert echoed, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Send her as a ward to one of the great houses," he explained. "And when the time comes, she might marry one of the sons."

It pleased Jon to see Robert caring for something that wasn't wine, a whore or something to kill. Robert studied Jon carefully, and Jon feared that he was going to let a roar. The realm needed this. When Prince Joffrey came to the throne, he would need allies. His sister could ensure the loyalty of her husband's house. Children might fight, but family were bound together by an unbreakable bond.

"Who do you have it mind?" Robert said gruffly. "Better not be a Lannister or some other family of scheming shits..."

"I was going to suggest the Martells," Jon said. The king was ready to pounce on him immediately. "You've already refused the Tyrells, Robert. The Martells have been... hostile towards the crown since the deaths of Elia Martell and her children. A marriage between your two houses could mend that."

He was a fool if he expected Robert to agree, the Hand realised. Dornishmen were not cruel, that he knew, and they had some degree of honour. _More than Tywin Lannister. Much more than Tywin Lannister. _

"I'm not sending her there, but perhaps she should be fostered. Some time away from Joffrey and her mother will do her good." Robert stroked his growing beard. In the three years since the Greyjoy's Rebellion, the king had gained weight. He tried to conceal his multiple chins with a beard.

Startling Jon, Robert stood up from his chair abruptly, nearly knocking it down. His bearded face split with a large grin. "I know who we should send her to." Jon sat back in his seat, raising an eyebrow expectantly. "Ned. He has a boy only a year older than Kenna, and girl only a few years younger. She can grow up with the Starks like I grew up with Ned."

Jon couldn't see the point in sending the princess north. The Starks were already tied to the crown because of Robert's brotherly relationship with Ned. There was no need to further their ties.

"Robert, the Starks are already our trusted allies," Jon told him. "There is no need..."

"And Kenna can marry the Stark boy when they both come of age," Robert went on, paying no mind to his Hand. "Like I was supposed to marry Lyanna. She'll like it there, I know she will. Ned will treat her kindly."

Jon sighed. "I have no doubts that he would, but we ought to use your daughter's marriage to strengthen ties with another house. Your rule is not yet fully cemented."

Robert waved his hand dismissively. He wanted something to happen, and when King Robert wanted something to happen... it _happened_. "I have other children. Another daughter, Myrcella. I can marry her to one of the other houses. Don't you see, Jon? Kenna can have the life I was suppose to have. She will marry a Stark, and be raised with them."

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to be patient. Robert wanted to live through his daughter. It wasn't the wisest course of action, but his Grace didn't care.

"And if your daughter does not want to marry Ned's boy?" Jon asked. "Will you make her? Will you force your eldest child to marry a boy she does not love so that you can live your dreams through her?"

That struck a chord in Robert. His excited face fell, and he sat once again in his chair. Obviously, he hadn't thought of his child's _feelings_, or Ned's child's feelings either. He pitied Robert. Even seven kingdoms couldn't make him happy. There was only one thing that could: Ned's late sister, Lyanna. Though, Jon questioned whether Robert actually loved Lyanna, or the girl's face and the idea of love.

Robert grabbed the wine pitcher and poured himself some wine. Warily, Jon watched him. His love of wine was famous throughout the kingdoms, almost as much as his love of women. If Robert didn't become more careful, his wine would drive him into an early grave.

Once he had gulped down the red wine at an alarmingly quick pace, Robert let out a heavy breath. He slammed the empty goblet on the table with a thud. "No," he said finally. "I won't force her to marry the boy. I'm not that hopeless of a romantic. But I still want her to become the Stark's ward. My word on that is final."

Jon glanced up to the heavens, and silently asked the gods why they had cursed him with such a stubborn king.

* * *

"I forbid it. You will _not _sell my daughter to those northerners!"

Cersei's face was red with rage. Her emerald eyes were narrowed at that _oaf _of a king she was forced to call husband. How _dare _he? Kenna was her daughter too, her _eldest _daughter. She was all that the queen had before Joffrey, her only light in this dark world. If it wasn't for Kenna, Cersei would have thrown herself off the highest tower in King's Landing. Even if she reminded her too much of Robert, Kenna was her daughter. She wouldn't her daughter to be sold off as she was.

A loud _thud _echoed through the dining room as Robert slammed his fist off the table. "I am the king, and what I say goes. Best you learn that, woman."

"You would not even ask for my opinion?" Cersei said, glaring daggers at the king. "You would not even ask the _mother _of your child if she was okay with this marriage?"

"It is a fine marriage, Cersei," Robert told her tiredly. "Anyway, I will not force the girl into anything. Why does everyone think so lowly of me? If she doesn't want to marry the boy, then she doesn't have to. But she _will _be Ned's ward, because I know she'll be much happier there than she would be with you or our golden haired shit of a son."

She wanted to laugh at him. Robert still believed that Joffrey was his son. But Joffrey was Jaime's, thank the Seven. Bearing one of Robert's children was hard enough, even if she did love Kenna. Now, her lord husband wanted to sell her off. Cersei wouldn't let her daughter be sold off like a common whore as she was.

"You know that there is bad blood between my family and the Starks," Cersei fumed, clenching her fists by her sides. "You _know _that, but yet you're sending her to them."

Robert took another long gulp of his wine. He drank too much, he ate too much and he fucked too much. Gone was the handsome man she once wanted to marry, and in his place was a fat, drunken whoremonger. Cersei's lip curled as she watched him. No woman desired him, but rather the crown on top of his fat head. She doubted that the great Robert Baratheon could even lift his warhammer any more. The thought gave her an immeasurable amount of joy. Was it normal for a wife to find pleasure in her husband's misfortunes? She knew that he found pleasure in her misfortunes.

The king lowered his goblet and shook it, swirling the red wine inside. "Kenna will go north," he stated, his voice threateningly low and his glare menacing. If Cersei was a weaker woman, she would have flinched. But alas, she was not. She was a Lannister of Casterly Rock; she was a _lion_. "And there is not a damn thing you can do about it. So you can go cry to your father or your brother or another golden Lannister – the gods know there's more than enough of them – but spare me your tears or your roars. Save them for someone who gives a damn."

As much as Cersei tried to hide it, there were times when she mourned for her marriage. They could have been happy, if Robert hadn't been so in love with Lyanna Stark's ghost. She rose from her seat, her eyes never leaving Robert, as his never left her. _How could you not love me? A hundred suitors begged for my hand, bards sing songs of my beauty, but yet you treat me like waste. You poor, drunken fool. I could have been a great wife, if you let me. Damn you, Robert. Damn you._

She hurled the goblet of wine from the table. With one last glare sent towards her husband – her _king –_ she stormed out of the dining room.

The serving wenches would be talking about it for weeks.

* * *

Kenna loved reading about dragons. She could recite the names of all the Targaryen dragons since Aegon's conquest. Balerion, Meraxes, Vhagar, Sunfyre, Shrykos, Morghul, Tyraxes, Syrax, Ghiscar... their names were like music to her ears. Her fascination with Targaryen history was something she kept to herself, knowing of her father's hatred of them.

The first and only time she mentioned the Targaryens, her father hadn't roared, nor had he hit her, though she expected him to. His voice had been cold and frightening, and it still haunted Kenna even though she only heard it once. "Dragons are monsters," he had said. "And what do we do with monsters?" A smile embraced her father's then clean-shaven face. It was a sick smile, like one worn by a sadist. "We kill them. We bury axes in their chests, and we kill their dragonspawn."

The dragonspawn_ – _Rhaegar Targaryen's children – were slaughtered by Kenna's grandfather, Lord Tywin Lannister. After she heard that tale, of how he supposedly ordered Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, and his men to kill the Targaryen children, Kenna hadn't been able to look the cold man in the eye, or at all for that matter. He was frightening anyway, with broad shoulders and a frigid face that betrayed nothing.

She glanced up, having heard the door squeak open. Her guard, Ser Willam Garrett, stood in the threshold beside a short, dark shadow. There was only one man who could cast a shadow so small.

"Tyrion!" she exclaimed, jumping up from her seat.

Most of the people in her family either scared her – like her grandfather, Joffrey, her father sometimes and her uncle Stannis – or they never could spend time with her because they were busy – like her mother, Ser Jaime, Uncle Renly, and the majority of the court. Tommen and Myrcella were too young to play with. They couldn't understand any of her games, and their sentences weren't very coherent.

Her uncle Tyrion was her favourite uncle. Whenever he came to King's Landing, he would come to her room first. He gave her books and toys and told her funny stories. Septa Patrys never told her funny stories. All that she did was scold Kenna for her messy needlework.

As soon as he had entered her room, with a huge smile on his face, Kenna attacked him with a hug. Uncle Tyrion laughed, and held her closely. They called him 'the Imp' around the castle, because he was so small. Kenna didn't like how they treated her uncle, not when he was so kind and gentle. He wasn't anything like the monster the courtiers painted him out to be.

"My, my, you've gotten big," he said, pulling away from the hug.

He wasn't the prettiest man. His forehead jutted out and his eyes were mismatched, green in the left and black in the right. But Kenna learned that looks could be deceiving. Joffrey was handsome, everyone said so, but he was cruel. She shivered when she thought of her dead cat and the poor little kittens.

She willed herself to smile. Her uncle was here, she should be happy. "Mother says that I am to be as tall as her someday," Kenna told him. "Do you think I will?"

Uncle Tyrion nodded and brushed a loose curl behind her ear. "Yes. And you will be more beautiful too. And more intelligent. What did I tell you the last time I visited King's Landing? About the mind?"

"That the mind is a weapon," she began, her face scrunched in concentration. It had been months since she last heard her uncle's favourite saying. "That a mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone."

He smiled proudly. Kenna loved when her uncle smiled. Despite his unattractiveness, his smile could light up a room. She didn't know how, but it seemed like his smile was brighter than Jaime Lannister's, even though Uncle Jaime was more handsome.

"Good," he commented. "Have you been reading, little princess?"

She nodded vehemently, and rushed over to the table to get her book. Her uncle loved dragons as much as she did. He didn't call her a fool for being interested in them like her mother did, nor did he scold her for it. Dragons were the main topic of many of Uncle Tyrion's stories, and he had dreams about them, just as she did.

"_Bone to Ash – __the History of Dragons_," Tyrion read once she handed him the book. He flipped through the pages quickly. "This book is too complicated and explicit for such a young mind." Kenna narrowed her eyes at him, not enjoying his comment about her age. Her septa said the same thing; that she was too young to read about such horrible things. But she wasn't. She was mature for her age. Tyrion ruffled her hair, messing her intricate hairstyle. "You look too much like your mother when you frown. _Don't frown_."

Kenna tilted her head to the side. Her mother was the most beautiful woman in Westeros; tall, slender and golden. Looking like her was an accomplishment, surely, not a curse like Uncle Tyrion was making it out to be.

"What's wrong with looking like my mother?" Kenna asked. "She's very beautiful. You even said so yourself."

"Ah, yes, I did," he said, placing the heavy book on the table. He stretched his arms out, and Kenna heard a sharp _crack_. "But no one wants to see a pretty lady frown. No one wants to see anyone frown, for that matter. When we frown, we give off the impression that we're unhappy. Are you unhappy, little princess?"

She shook her head. "Just bored, and a little angry."

"At whom, may I ask?"

Despite her uncle telling her that frowning wasn't good, she couldn't help narrowing her eyes at the wall, and pressing her lips together. She would never forgive Joffrey. Not even if her mother asked her to. As long as the image of a dead Lady Fuzz, split in two and surrounded by a pool of blood, remained in her head, she wouldn't forgive him.

"Joffrey," she snarled, with a tone that sounded strange even to her own ears.

Tyrion gave a short nod. "Ah. Of course. Your brother is quite... malevolent."

An unladylike snort came out of her nose without Kenna's permission. _Malevolent. _He was more than that. Her mother said that children went through phases, and that siblings had rivalries, but their 'rivalry' wasn't normal. Sure, she had been jealous of Joffrey on numerous occasions. He was to be the future king, Mother preferred him and he was the child who got most of the attention.

Joffrey was jealous of her too. Their father preferred her because she looked like a Baratheon. Renly preferred her too. He paid no mind to Joffrey, though he played with Kenna from time to time and gave her the most wonderful presents.

Kenna couldn't see how _anyone _could like Joffrey. Could her mother not see how much of a monster he was? When he was three, he ripped the head off all of Kenna's dolls. When he was five, he pulled out a chunk of her hair when Kenna refused to give him Lady Fuzz. And then when he was eight, he killed Lady Fuzz. What Joffrey couldn't have, he killed or damaged.

"I hate him," Kenna blurted, seething with hatred. Everything she had bottled up since she was three began pouring out of her. _It's not fair. Joffrey shouldn't be allowed to get away with everything. _Tears pooled in her blue eyes, and one trailed down her cheek. "He killed Lady Fuzz. He _killed _her, and he didn't get in any trouble from Mother. _None_! And Lady Fuzz was pregnant with kittens! Father hit him, but Mother didn't even scold him. He gets away with _everything_! It's not fair!"

_Princesses don't cry, _she heard her mother's voice telling her. _And Lannisters don't weep. _But Kenna wasn't a Lannister, not truly, she was a Baratheon. Uncle Tyrion hugged her, holding her bigger body close to his. She was taller than him, and she had been since she was four. The people in King's Landing mocked him for his height, but Kenna thought that he was taller than the lot of them; in kindness and strength.

"You are worth ten of your brother," Tyrion told her. "Remember that, little princess. Even when your brother sits on the Iron Throne and you are leagues away, married to some noble lord. You are worth ten of him. Say it."

Kenna stood a little taller. She straightened her back – ladies did not slouch – and rose her chin. "I am worth ten of him," she repeated.

Uncle Tyrion smiled. "And don't you forget it. I have a present for you."

All propriety left her as soon as a present was mentioned. She squealed, and jumped an inch in the air. Tyrion didn't mind, she knew. If she was to misbehave in front of anyone, Uncle Tyrion would be the least stern.

He roared a name, and as quick as he had said it, a man came rushing in with more than twenty books. They were large books too, it would take her longer than a year to finish them all. Her face broke into a large smile. If anything could cheer her up, it was books.

The man laid the books upon her bed. Uncle Tyrion was watching her, grinning at her reaction. "And this, my lady, is to ensure that you never run out of whetstones."

She traced her finger along the cover of the book on the top of the pile. They were new, freshly printed. She opened the book and flicked through it, inhaling the new book smell. There was nothing like the smell of a freshly printed book.

When she found the will to look away from the books, she looked to her uncle, and gave him her brightest smile. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you so much."

The door creaked opened. Her uncle's expression visibly darkened when he saw who was at the threshold. Kenna glanced over her shoulder to see who it was.

"Sweetling, I was hoping to speak with you," her mother told Kenna, though she was glaring at Uncle Tyrion. She pointedly glanced at the door. "_Alone_."

Uncle Tyrion glared back at Kenna's mother, with anger equal to Cersei's own. She wondered why they hated each other. Her mother, though blind to Joffrey's horrid nature, was not cruel at any rate, and Uncle Tyrion was very sweet. Did something happen, that Kenna was not aware of? Her eyes darted between them both, expecting one of them to yell.

It felt like an age, but finally Uncle Tyrion nodded, though rage did not leave his mismatched eyes. "I will see you later," he said to Kenna, and kissed her forehead.

Her mother's gaze followed him wherever he went, her eyes narrowed and vicious. What had Tyrion done to deserve such hate? If Mother could love Joffrey, then why couldn't she love Tyrion? Surely Joffrey was a lot worse than Tyrion.

Once her uncle had left, Kenna asked her mother quietly, "Why do you hate him?"

Her question seemed to shock the queen by the way she flinched and looked at her as though Kenna had grown another head. Adults often looked at her like that. They didn't expect her to catch on to things, but she was smarter than they thought. She noticed how fake the courtier's smiles were, and how their pretty words were steeped with hidden meanings. They scared her, but that didn't mean that she didn't understand them.

"You shouldn't speak with him so often," her mother replied sternly. "He is a horrid little creature."

"Joffrey is the only horrid creature I know," Kenna muttered.

Once she realised what she had said, Kenna moved her head to meet her mother's gaze, worriedly awaiting a scolding. Her mother had heard, and she narrowed her eyes at her daughter. Tyrion's words came to mind immediately. _N__o one wants to see a pretty lady frown. No one wants to see anyone frown. _Cersei Lannister was unsettling when she frowned. Even her daughter feared her.

"Don't speak of your brother that way." Her tone was cautionary and strict. She never used that tone with Joffrey. "He is your flesh and blood, and someday he will be your king."

"If I was born a boy, _I'd _be king," Kenna said thoughtfully. She would be a fair king; just and kind.

Her mother didn't look angry any more as she sat down on Kenna's bed. Instead of yelling when she opened her mouth, she let out a heavy sigh. "But you were born a girl," she replied sadly, taking Kenna's hand and leading her to sit beside her mother on the bed. "And someday you will be a woman. Women don't have many options in this world, my dear. We are treated like cattle, to be sold and bought by the highest bidder. To be sent away to some far land to be a brood mare. I hoped that I could save you from this, but you're day has come, sweetling."

Firstly, Kenna was startled because of how quick her mother's humour changed. One moment she was angry, and the next she was kind and doting. She was like the weather. Then, she was shocked when her mother told her that she was to be sold to someone. Kenna had been told that once she had her first blood, she would be fit to wed. She was only nine, and there had been no sign of any blood. Was she to be married off before she even bled?

"But I can't be married," Kenna said almost desperately. She did _not _want to be married off so soon. "I haven't even bled yet."

"You won't be married for quite some time," her mother explained. "Not until you've flowered. Your father has been _gracious _enough to allow you some time to get to know your northern beast of a husband."

Her father was going to make her marry a beast? That didn't sound like him. Robert Baratheon wasn't the most attentive of fathers, nor was he the most loving, but he wouldn't make her marry a beast. Her mother didn't like the northerners, and her father knew that well. Yet she was to marry one.

A heavy lump formed in Kenna's throat. She tried to swallow it down, but the damn lump wouldn't budge. "What is his name?"

"Some Stark," her mother said. "Your father couldn't remember his name. The heir, I think. If it isn't then I'll murder your father myself."

Kenna nodded slowly. She was going to Winterfell, to the freezing, cold north. Southerners didn't belong in the North. She would be an outcast, and it would be so cold! What if this Stark boy – who, despite being betrothed to him, she didn't know the name of – was as cold as the wasteland he came from? Her mother described the northerners as savages, especially the Starks. But her mother wasn't the best judge of character, was she?

"I don't want to marry him," Kenna blurted. "I don't want to go north. I _want _to stay here!"

Her mother cupped Kenna's face in her soft hands, caressing her daughter's cheeks with her thumb. "Your father says that if you don't like the boy, then he won't force you to marry him. But as for going north... I'm afraid you have no choice, my dear. Your father is adamant that you become a ward of the North. And what the king wants, he gets." There was bitterness in her voice. She seemed to genuinely not want her to go. "I tried to fight him on this. I roared at him, I did everything I could, but still he wants to take you from me."

A sob almost escaped her, but she pushed it back. Her mother did not like it when she cried. The night that Joffrey killed her cat was an exception, as Cersei Lannister usually would not condone her children crying.

"What if they're cruel?"

The queen snorted. "I may not like the Starks, but they have a suffocating amount of honour. They will not harm you. Besides, you're Robert Baratheon's daughter, and Ned Stark loves your father as though he was his true brother."

Kenna nodded again, somewhat relieved. "Will you visit me?"

Cersei hesitated, and Kenna noticed. So she would be all alone, in a place she had never seen before. The thought frightened her more than anything. "Perhaps someday we will," her mother said. Kenna suspected that she was lying.

Her mother didn't leave her chambers that night. When Kenna's maids came to brush her hair and ready her for bed, her mother shooed them away and did so herself. She stayed with Kenna, and sung her to sleep. She held her daughter as she slept, as she thought of her future in Winterfell.

* * *

Septa Patrys searched for suitable dresses in her wardrobe. She would hand Kenna the dresses she found suitable, and the ones she did not like she would throw on the floor. All of the 'unsuitable' dresses were of fine silk.

"Such beautiful dresses should not be wasted on the north," her septa grumbled.

She wondered what Septa Patrys would do with them. Would she burn them? Or sell them? By the time she returned to King's Landing – _if _she returned to King's Landing – she would have probably outgrown her dresses. Kenna mournfully looked down at the dresses on the ground. They were another broken fragment of her life as a princess.

Everything was being taken from her. Her septa's fussiness and bossy attitude wasn't helping anything. She clenched her fists by her side in an attempt to stop herself from shouting. It wasn't _fair_. Joffrey got to stay with Mother. Joffrey got _everything _he wanted, and he didn't deserve any of it.

Perhaps he would grow out of his spoilt, cruel demeanour. Perhaps in ten more years, they would laugh about their complicated relationship as children. But that hadn't been the case for her uncle Tyrion and her mother, so she couldn't see it happening for her.

The septa was examining a grey and blue dress. "Dreary and depressing... this one will do perfectly for the north."

Kenna couldn't see the septa any more, she could only see red. She snatched the hideous dress from Septa Patrys – though the dress wasn't that hideous, in fact it was actually quite nice – and threw it to the ground, glaring daggers at her septa. It felt good to let her anger out. For too long, ever since she learned of her wardship with the Starks and her possible marriage to Robb Stark, she had contained her anger, and she contained it well. But she was tired of being the perfect little princess when all she wanted was to scream and yell and roar at everyone involved in this.

"_Kenna_," the septa hissed, her wrinkled face scrunched in a frown. Kenna's eyes drifted from her angry septa to the dress on the floor. It was ripped, and one of the sleeves was hanging onto the body of the dress by a thread. "Naughty girl, you cannot behave like this in the North. What would Lord and Lady Stark think?"

"I don't care what they think," Kenna spat. "Damn them. Damn my father. Damn them all!"

"_Kenna_!" Septa Patrys looked positively scandalised. Kenna folded her arms in front of her chest and huffed. There was a queer sort of freedom about misbehaving. Her whole life she had been told what to do, what to wear and how to act. It was liberating to shake out of some of those constraints. "You will _not _speak of the Starks like that again! They are most kind to take you in as their ward. The least you can do is to show them some respect."

"Why don't you show me some respect?" Kenna asked. "I am a princess, the daughter of King Robert of House Baratheon, and you are just a lowly septa."

Her septa's nostrils flared and she looked like Kenna had just slapped her. She realised that she had went too far. Pride was a sin, and she was being very haughty. "Respect has to be earned, young lady," her septa answered bitingly. "The Starks have earned your father's respect, and King Robert has theirs in return. If you do not act like a proper lady, then you will have no one's respect."

She stared at her feet and muttered an apology. Joffrey stormed in then, a wide smirk etched on his face. How Kenna wanted to slap him. Other boys his age didn't come close to how bad Joffrey was. Some were annoying, sure, but they weren't cruel.

He shooed her maids out of the room. Kenna scowled as he did. Those were _her _maids, not his, and yet he treated them like they were his to command. Her septa was the last to leave, casting her a sympathetic glance on her way out.

"Next time I see you, you'll be Robb Stark's personal brood mare," Joffrey said, so delighted with himself. "Perhaps you'll pregnant with his pup."

Kenna clenched her jaw as she flushed red. "Father said that I don't have to marry him if I don't want to."

"But you will," Joffrey asserted. "You'll want to marry him as soon as he pays you one ounce of affection. You've always been desperate, sweet sister. I'm sure he'll lure you into his bed too. Wait, do you even know how babies are made?"

She knew some. Her father boasted of his accomplishments with other women when he was drunk, which was often, but Kenna barely understood. It had something to do with the man and the woman lying together, and doing gruesome things to each other. Her father hadn't been able to get into great detail since Cersei interrupted him before he could.

"Yes," Kenna said through gritted teeth. "Of course I know how babies are made."

Joffrey cackled at her expense, seeing through her lie. She winced because of the harsh sound coming from her brother. Brothers were supposed to protect their sisters, not terrorise them. She feared for Myrcella and Tommen. Her little sister was only four, and Tommen was only three. Kenna had an inkling that Joffrey was only going to get worse.

"It will be a surprise then, won't it?" Joffrey taunted. His eyes glistened with delight. He was _enjoying _her discomfort. How could she be related to someone so cruel? "When Robb Stark fucks you for the first time. When he pushes his cock inside your wet cunt. But don't worry, sweet sister, I'm sure he'll be gentle. Although... wolves aren't known for their patience."

Before he could say any more, Kenna struck him. Her hand collided with his cheek, and she felt some sadistic pleasure when he cried out, and even more pleasure when a bruise formed on his right cheek. Joffrey touched his wound gingerly, his threatening stare not leaving her. She tried not to flinch. _He _was the one who should be scared.

"I'm telling Mother!" Joffrey declared. He removed his hand from his face and balled it into a fist by his side. "You'll be sorry!"

Dread filled Kenna as he ran out of her room. Her mother would be disappointed with her for hitting her precious Joffrey. But she was leaving in a few days, surely her mother wouldn't want to start an argument just before she left.

She sighed and continued to pack her clothes. Her mother had ordered a seamstress to make her warmer dresses and cloaks. They were terribly warm, but Kenna knew that she'd be thankful for them in the North. The dresses were also much darker. Was the North truly as dreary as everyone said it was? In King's Landing, she usually wore bright dresses, it would be strange to have to wear dark dresses for the next few years.

How long would she be staying? Mother hadn't specified, nor had Septa Patrys. Would she ever come back home? Would she be welcome in the North? What if they didn't like her, or thought she was too stuck up? Her mind was fried with all her worries and questions. Nobody had answers for her, and Kenna didn't think they knew the answers at all. She was frightened. She would have to leave everything and everyone she had ever met behind. King's Landing was her _home_, and her family was here. Chances were she wouldn't get to see three year old Tommen grow up, or see Myrcella become the beautiful woman she was bound to become.

She fought back tears. _Princesses don't cry. _Instead of dwelling on the thoughts of leaving home, she focused on packing. Her maids and her septa still hadn't come back in, and Kenna didn't know when they would.

"I saw your brother."

Kenna whirled around, sitting on the edge of her bed. Her father walked into her room, a grin on his face as he observed her. She tried to hate her father, though as a daughter she shouldn't. She couldn't anyway, no matter how much she tried. Robert Baratheon had infallible charisma, and Kenna loved him, even if he was sending her north.

"His face is purple," he said, looking at her knowingly. "Would you know anything about that?"

"He deserved it," she replied quickly, not wanting her father to scold her.

The king let out a roaring laugh. Despite her previous fear of a scolding, Kenna laughed nervously along with him. Her father had little love for Joffrey, but he was still his son. But he didn't seem to mind that Kenna had slapped Joffrey.

"I'm sure he did," her father agreed. "That boy's a menace. Your mother won't let me deal with him, but if I could..." All trace of laughter was drained from his face as it darkened. He shook his head. "Nevermind that. My daughter's going North." His grin appeared on his face once again, and he placed a hand on Kenna's shoulder, giving it a tight, reassuring squeeze. " You'll be good for Lord Stark, won't you? No trouble?"

"No trouble," she echoed, and gave her father a cheeky smile. "I won't do anything you wouldn't do."

Another booming laugh came from her father. Kenna loved it when she made him laugh. It wasn't much of an accomplishment since he laughed so often, but she felt some sort of pride when he did. And he looked better when he was smiling; healthier and more of the man he once was. Years ago her father looked like a proper king, Kenna only got a glimpse of the man he was when he smiled.

"That doesn't reassure me at all," her father jested. "But I know my daughter. You won't make any trouble for the Starks. Seven hells, they have enough children to deal with anyway. Four – five if you count the bastard."

Her mother told her about Ned Stark's baseborn son that night she stayed in Kenna's bed. It confused Kenna. Ned Stark was supposed to be the most honourable man in the Seven Kingdoms, but yet he had a child out of marriage. Her mother hated her father's baseborn children, none of them were allowed at court. She wondered if Lady Stark hated the Snow boy like her mother hated her father's baseborn children, and she wondered if Snow was as dishonourable as her mother described baseborns to be. The queen called them lustful, jealous and scheming. She said to be wary around Snow, and to not associate herself with him.

She was brought back from her thoughts when her father smiled down at her, his blue eyes sparkling with pride. It made being angry with him even more difficult. He was delighted with her going north. Kenna wanted to please her father, and she knew then that she had.

"How long will I be there for?" she asked softly, careful not to ruin the king's good humour.

"I don't know," he admitted. Kenna nodded in understanding. If he didn't know, then nobody knew. Her time with the Starks was indefinite. She might never see King's Landing again. "You'll like it there, though. I promise you that. Ned has sons your age, and a daughter close. The northerners are kind folk too, so there'll be no bother with them. Don't you worry, girl. I don't see how anyone couldn't like you. You're my daughter after all!"

_You're my daughter. _Kenna wondered if her father knew how much those words meant to her. If he knew that when he said those words, that Kenna would do anything for him. He never said that to Joffrey, or Tommen or Myrcella; only to her. It made her feel special.

She smiled up at him, her eyes gleaming. "I'll be good. Just... write to me, won't you? Promise that you will."

He laid a hand on Kenna's shoulder, still smiling with so much pride that it made her heart swell. "You know that I will," he said, letting out another hearty laugh. "Seven hells, you'll be the only person I'll pick up a pen for! What have you done to me, girl? I've gone soft!"

Kenna giggled as her father scooped her up, holding her in his strong arms. Even though he'd gained weight, her father still had a powerful build. Kenna wasn't that light. She was a healthy weight for her age, but most men couldn't pick her up. Even Uncle Jaime couldn't pick her up any more. Not that he had picked her up often, only the rare occasion when she got into trouble and the queen told Ser Jaime to find her.

She hadn't been close with her uncle Jaime. She had an inkling that he didn't like her very much. Actually, Uncle Jaime didn't like anyone very much. Only Kenna's mother and her uncle Tyrion. He seemed especially close with her mother, though. She saw him entering her chambers late at night, when Kenna was chasing after Lady Fuzz through the castle, and then she saw him leaving her mother's chambers early in the morning. Kenna thought nothing of it. Perhaps Uncle Jaime was simply protecting her mother... from inside her chambers.

She would miss him. She would miss everyone from King's Landing. Even the bald, plump man that scared her. The Spider, they called him. All that Kenna had ever wanted was to go on adventures, like the ones in books. She was beginning to realise that King's Landing was the best adventure anyone could have.

"I'm going to miss you," Kenna stated, curling into her father's arms. "I'm going to miss everyone."

"You won't be gone forever," her father replied, even though he didn't know that for certain. For all he knew, she would die in Winterfell. "Maybe someday you'll come back."

_Someday. Probably never, _she thought, feeling a sob claw its way up her throat. But she pushed it back before the sob could pass through her lips, just like her mother taught her to. That was something both her parents' had in common. They both hated weakness in their children.

The words 'I don't want to leave' and 'please don't make me' almost rolled off Kenna's tongue. Instead of begging her father to let her stay, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly, relishing in the smell of wine and the slight stench of perfume.

* * *

The whole court came to see her off. Uncle Tyrion kissed her cheek and told her to be good. He gifted her with even more books, about five or six, and said that the libraries in Winterfell would have more. Of all the people in King's Landing, Tyrion would be among those she would miss the most. Every time she'd open a book, Kenna would think of him.

Her uncle Jaime gave her a curt, cold nod. Not that she expected any more from him. From the corner of her eye, Kenna saw her mother shoot Jaime a sharp look, though her uncle only smirked. His smirk was notorious throughout King's Landing, and probably beyond. As was his murder of the last Targaryen king; Aerys Targaryen, also known as the Mad King. The tales of the Mad King's slaughter used to frighten Kenna. She feared that someday, her uncle would do the same to her. But Uncle Jaime was a kingslayer, not a kinslayer. Even he wouldn't stoop so low. Would he?

Her father engulfed Kenna in a tight hug, whispering about being on her best behaviour. "Don't run off anywhere," he warned, a foreign sternness in his voice that hadn't been there before. "And don't become friends with wildlings."

Kenna giggled. As if she would become friends with wildlings. "I'll make sure to refuse their offer of eternal friendship."

She moved onto her mother then, after receiving a boisterous laugh and a pat on the back from her father. Her mother's face was much more serious, and she looked like she was losing her eldest daughter forever. _Maybe she is. Maybe I'll never see King's Landing again. _The thought kept popping up in her head, and Kenna kept pushing it away. She _would _return. The alternative was to frightening to think about.

"Be careful, my sweet girl," Cersei said, brushing a loose black hair behind Kenna's ear. Her tone lowered as she bent down to meet her daughter's height. "And do not trust. You trust too easily, and trust is a poison, as is love. When he trust, we open our hearts and become vulnerable, and that is when the poison sneaks in."

Sometimes, her mother shocked Kenna more than anything. Septa Patrys said that trust was earned, much like respect, and to only give it to those who wouldn't misuse it. She said that a love was a rare and precious jewel, to be treasured when found. But her mother was telling her to not trust at all, and to never love. The thought of a life without love and trusted friends scared her, even if she was being naive.

"I will be careful," Kenna promised, choosing her words carefully. She wouldn't promise not to trust, or to love, as she wanted to trust and to love. She wanted to make friends in Winterfell, friends that she could cherish and trust and love. "And I'll be... wary."

'Wary' seemed to satisfy her mother. The queen nodded and softly kissed Kenna on her forehead, declaring that she would see her soon. Kenna knew not to believe her. 'Soon' was whenever it was convenient. 'Soon' was any time between a year and thirty.

She embraced Joffrey. The bruise was still fresh on his cheek, and that was enough to turn Kenna's day around. He didn't say any cruel words to her while his father was there, in fear of a scolding in front of everyone, but before she could move onto Myrcella, he discretely grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.

"Remember, sister," he sneered. "When I am king, you will pay for this." Joffrey pointed to his bruise with a jewelled finger. She tried to hide it, but she was terrified. Someday he would be king, and her father would no longer be there to protect her. "You best get close with the Starks. Start by showing your 'teats' to Robb Stark. Soon you can warm his bed and pop out wolf pups."

He chuckled under his breath at her non-existent breasts. She wanted to hit him, to yell at him for insulting her again, to give him another bruise to match the one on his left cheek, but she thought better of it. A smile still graced both of their faces, hiding their less-than-friendly-exchange from prying eyes.

Kenna cleared her throat, and said in her most steady voice, "I look forward to seeing you again, brother."

"And I, you," he replied, a menacing grin on his face. She began to miss the forced smile, and Kenna hated forced smiles.

She knelt on one knee in front of Myrcella and Tommen, clutching one of their hands in each of hers. Tears fell from Tommen's bright, green eyes as he stared down at the ground. She heard Joffrey scolding him moments, calling him weak and a 'little girl' for crying. Her poor siblings would have to endure Joffrey all on their own, for surely their mother would be of no help.

Her thumb wiped away Tommen's tears. She lost the polite smile, and gave them both a genuine one. "We'll see each other again," she said, another empty promise.

She felt like a hypocrite. She criticised the empty promises coming from the lips of her father and her mother and all the others, but yet here she was, speaking the same pretty words. Kenna only wanted to make them feel better. Perhaps that was why her mother lied, and her father lied. To make _her _feel better.

Her siblings only nodded grimly, and Kenna stood up. She mounted her horse; a mare that she called Black Sun, because of the eclipse that occurred the day Kenna got her. Her riding lessons paid off, and she found that riding was one of the few things she was taught that she enjoyed. Well, that and anything to do with books.

Ser Willam Garrett rode beside her, and some guards rode behind her. Kenna didn't look back. She couldn't bare to see any of their faces. Not her father's, not her mother's, not Joffrey's or Myrcella's or Tommen's, not Renly's or Stannis', nor Uncle Tyrion or Uncle Jaime's. They all reminded her of everything she was leaving behind, and everything she wanted to go back to.


	2. All We Know

_**Author's Note: **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, added this story to their favourites and followed. This chapter isn't as long, but hopefully you guys will enjoy it! Keep those reviews coming! I love to hear what you think. Any suggestions are welcomed too. Hope you enjoy the chapter!_

**All We Know**

Kenna's horse trotted into a large puddle. It was raining... _again_.

They were nearing the Neck. The guards behind her and Ser Willam scrunched their noses at the stench of the swamps. Kenna attempted to keep her expression even, she didn't want anyone thinking that she thought herself above her new homeland. A haughty princess would not do well in the north.

"There is an inn not too far from here, my lady," Ser Willam told her. Some guards were making loud japes about the North, while others complained about the cold, the rain and the swamps. Ser Willam shouted at them, "Quiet! The next man who opens his mouth will be laughed in this abominable swamp to rot."

The guards grumbled under their breath, but complied nonetheless. There was a stern, authoritative edge in Ser Willam's voice that commanded respect. No one would challenge him. He was a good fighter too. Kenna saw him fight in tourneys in King's Landing. Though he never won against any of the big names, like her uncle Jaime, Ser Barristan Selmy or Loras Tyrell, he was very skilled, which was why her father name him her guard.

"They don't like the North very much, do they?" Kenna said, glancing over her shoulder at the guards as they glared at the ground.

Ser Willam shook his head. "I'm afraid not, my lady. But these lot are a haughty bunch. Just because they stick their noses up at the North doesn't mean that it's horrible. Perhaps you're made of tougher stuff than them."

The corners of Kenna's lips twitched upwards in a small smile. Ser Willam had made it his duty to keep her spirits up, reassuring her and telling her funny stories about his childhood. She was grateful for him. If he hadn't been so caring, Kenna would have isolated herself with thoughts of the far away King's Landing.

"How far away is Winterfell?" Kenna asked, covering her nose with her sleeve. The horrid stench worsened as they went further into the swamp. It smelt of decaying vegetation and rotten eggs. She hoped that Winterfell didn't smell as bad.

"Not too far," Ser Willam answered. His eyes scanned their surroundings, as though searching for something. "About two days ride."

Kenna nodded, watching him carefully. What was he looking for? They were the only people in the swamp. Perhaps Ser Willam was being paranoid, but his paranoia struck fear in her. The guards were silent as well, observing the seemingly empty swamp.

"What is it?" Kenna whispered, low enough that the men behind them couldn't hear. She didn't want them thinking that their princess was a frightened little girl. Ser Willam stayed silent, continuing to watch for danger. "There's no one out here for miles. Ser Willam, tell me. What is it?"

She heard him sigh heavily. He placed a comforting hand on her arm, and gave her a look that clearly said to be silent. Kenna huffed. Was he trying to frighten her? He was doing a damn good job if that was his intention. But Ser Willam was a kind man, he wouldn't purposely try to frighten her. And he seemed genuinely worried, and that worried Kenna.

The bustling of trees made her jump. She gripped the reins of her horse tightly, prepared to gallop away if there was any sign of danger. Ser Willam discussed what they would do if they were attacked nights ago. She was to ride to the nearest castle with one of the guards. But Ser Willam told her that when men were scared, they often deserted their duties. So Kenna would have to wander about the swamp on her own. What would her lady mother think?

A wolf's howl tore through the cold air. A bird sung a soft song off in the distance. Then, a bush rustled. Kenna's eyes snapped over to the source, expecting a fierce monster to reveal itself.

She grabbed Ser Willam's arm, terrified and shaking. Kenna could almost hear her mother scolding her, as she often did. Ser Willam smiled reassuringly at her, and Kenna took her hand off his arm. The knight dismounted his black stallion, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The wolf howled again, joined by the barking of wolves, and Ser Willam unsheathed his sword. The bright steel glistened in the dim sunlight. _Everything will be fine, _Kenna thought, in an effort to calm her nerves. _Ser Willam will protect us. _

The bush shook again, and the animal was revealed. Only, it wasn't as fierce as Kenna expected it to be.

Ser Willam went red as he looked down at the black and white cat. _A cat. A damn cat caused so much trouble. _Kenna cursed herself for being so scared of a _cat_. Poor Ser Willam. Gallant, courageous Ser Willam, who thought himself a brave knight for protecting a frightened princess from a scared beast.

Laughter erupted behind her, and Kenna soon found herself laughing with them. Ser Willam sheathed his sword, his head bowed as he stormed over to them. He climbed onto his horse, still as red as a tomato.

They continued riding until night. When they were finally out of the swamp, they came upon an inn. The guards stayed outside for the night, given ale and fine food by Ser Willam. The innkeeper drew her a bath and gave her the finest room, even though Kenna assured her that there was no need.

Steam rose from the boiling water, climbing to the ceiling before evaporating into nothingness. She enjoyed baths. The warm water caressed her skin and washed all the grime from her skin. The last good bath she had was two weeks ago, in King's Landing. Her heart ached at the memory of her childhood home. Although it had only been two weeks, it felt like forever. She wanted her mother. She wanted her father and her uncles. She wanted her brother and sister. Not Joffrey, though, she was happy to get rid of him.

She felt so alone. Nobody understood how she felt, even Kenna couldn't quite understand how she felt. Perhaps it was wrong of her to succumb to self-pity when so many others had it worse. She was being sent from one castle to the next, who was she to complain about hardship?

Kenna remembered a woman dressed in rags from the streets of King's Landing, and her three gaunt children. She was returning from the Sept with her family. Through the window, she saw the woman holding a baby, barely even a month old, and the two children clutching onto their mother. They were outside of a bread shop, and the owner of the shop shooed them away angrily, not even sparing a piece of bread.

Months later, Kenna barged into her father's room, running from her uncle Jaime because he wanted to bring her back to her mother. Ser Barristan tried to stop her, telling her that the king was busy, but her father was never too busy for her. Her laughter died when she saw her father with the woman from the streets. They were kissing, and the woman was whispering odd, descriptive things in a low voice to the king. She wasn't gaunt any more, in fact she seemed healthy. But her eyes were haunting. What trace of happiness or hope Kenna had seen in her eyes that day when they were coming from the Sept had disappeared. Her eyes looked like dead pools of emptiness.

Whenever she felt sorry for herself, Kenna remembered the woman from the streets, the wails of her three children and her dead eyes. Something horrible must have happened to her to make her so broken, and although Kenna was slightly curious, she didn't want to find out.

The water swooshed as she stood and grabbed her nightgown. Before she put in on, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She wasn't vain, but her growing body fascinated her. The nutritious food from King's Landing made her grow faster, or so her septa said. She had no breasts, but they were beginning to grow and felt tender to touch. Buds of hair formed on her womanhood, and her waist was becoming more slender as her hips widened.

She wanted to look like her mother. She wanted to be slim, graceful and tall, and she wanted to be the most beautiful woman in all Seven Kingdoms, just like her mother was. The courtiers always commented about how much she looked like her mother, with her high cheekbones and fair skin, but with her father's colouring. When she was younger, Kenna had envied her brother Joffrey for his golden hair and emerald eyes, until she realised that because of the colour of her hair and eyes, she was the king's favourite child.

The nightgown was soft against her skin, and she immediately felt warmer as she shrugged it on. She wrung her wet hair, holding it by a bunch over the bath. When it was damp, Kenna went into the bedroom and picked up a book, one given to her by Uncle Tyrion. _The Dance of Dragons. _She recalled Uncle Tyrion telling her about the famous dispute in the line of succession, where a daughter and a son battled for the Iron Throne. Rhaenyra Targaryen was named her father's heir, but Aegon II challenged her claim, since he was a son and sons came before daughters. The war ripped the realm apart, and split the Seven Kingdoms into greens and blacks.

Kenna couldn't imagine going to war against her brother, even if he was a malicious swine. She couldn't imagine going to war at all, actually. It seemed awfully selfish to tear apart the realm to gain a throne. Her father started a war to save the woman he loved from the evil clutches of Rhaegar Targaryen, but then he lost the woman he loved and got a throne. Most men would be happy with that change, but her father always seemed sad when he wore his crown.

Her thoughts distracted her from the book. It was futile to try and continue, as none of the information was going to her head. The innkeeper came in then, with a tray of well-cooked food. Kenna smiled when she smelt the aroma of freshly cooked lamb. It didn't taste – or smell – as good as the food in King's Landing, but it was better than the stew she had scoffed down for the past few weeks.

There was two servings of food, and Kenna wondered if the innkeeper thought she was going to eat the both of them. The woman noticed her confusion and said, "I brought some for your guard, milady. The strong one. He seemed a bit peckish."

She nodded, resisting the urge to scoff down the food then and there like a starved animal. "Can you send him in?"

The innkeeper smiled at her and scurried out. She should have waited for Ser Willam, it was disrespectful to eat before everyone was seated, but Kenna wasn't at court any more. And she was _so hungry._

Ser Willam stepped inside her room. When he noticed the food, Kenna saw his mouth watering and stifled a laugh. Her reaction was no better, she knew, but it was funny seeing a usually composed man look so feral. If someone saw how she reacted, they would laugh as well. A princess acting like a savage... the smallfolk and nobles alike would mock her name and chuckle at her expense.

She gave him a large smile, her mouth filled with potatoes and lamb. "Eat," she told him, barely able to speak with all the food in her mouth. Her words were hardly audible, but intelligible. "The innkeeper..." She coughed as the food went too quickly down her throat. Once she had brought it back up, she said shortly, "Just eat."

No words were exchanged between them for the entire meal. Ser Willam ate just as quickly as she did, and just as savagely. It wasn't a man in front of her, it was a beast. A beast who hadn't been given a good meal in weeks. Kenna found herself relating to his hunger, as she herself was a beast in that moment. Well, a beastly princess.

When Ser Willam was finished his food, he fell back into his chair, his hand gripping his abdomen. "I haven't had a meal like that in a while," he groaned, a satisfied smile on his face. Kenna found herself imitating his position, leaning back in her chair as well, hand on her full stomach. Ser Willam remembered his courtesies and sat up. "Pardons, my lady. I shouldn't..."

"It doesn't matter," Kenna assured him, eyes closed and waving her hand in dismissal of his behaviour. The taste of the food was still fresh on her tongue, and she savoured the sensation. Soon they would be back on the road, with only disgusting stew to eat. "I don't ever want to leave this inn. That stew Hairyfoot makes is horrid. It tastes like muck."

Ser Willam chuckled. "You'll only have to endure it for two days more, my lady," he said. "Soon we'll be in Winterfell, and though the food might not be as fine as it is in King's Landing, the Starks will feed you well enough."

"Will you be staying with me?" Kenna asked, hoping that his answer would be yes. Ser Willam was all that she had left of her childhood home. Losing him would be like losing the last piece of her home.

Slowly, the knight shook his head, a pitiful look in his eyes. Kenna didn't want his pity, she wanted him to _stay_. "Your father ordered me and the rest of the guards to return to King's Landing once we delivered you safely to Winterfell," he told her. Ser Willam watched her carefully, expecting her to burst into tears, and Kenna felt like doing just that. "He said you would be well-protected there."

"I want you to stay," she blurted, her eyes set on the ground. She didn't want to look at him. _Princess don't cry_, she heard her mother whisper. Tears pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill. She was trying so hard to be strong, to be the princess her mother wanted her to be. But it was so hard; it was _too _hard. "I don't want you to leave me. Please don't leave me."

"Hey," Ser Willam said, kneeling on the floor in front of her. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her father should have been the one there with her. He should have been the one to comfort his eldest daughter in her time of need. But in his place was a guard, and no matter how much Ser Willam cared for her, he couldn't fill the hole her father left. "You have to be brave, princess. You are the daughter of Robert Baratheon and Cersei Lannister, a princess of Westeros. You can be brave."

Kenna scowled through her tears. "But I don't _want _to be brave. I _want _to go home! Everyone is leaving me, or I'm leaving them. And I don't even know why, or for how long, or if I'll ever come home!"

"You will come home someday," Ser Willam stated.

He was lying. What did he know? His lies only infuriated Kenna more. She pushed his hand away from her face and jumped up, walking to the other side of the room. Ser Willam should have fought for her, and her mother should have been more forceful. Her father was misguided. He only wanted what was best for her. It was the duty of those surrounding him to help him see sense.

"How do you know that?" she fumed. Ser Willam's jaw had fallen, still on his knees by her chair. He hadn't expected her outburst, and perhaps she should have felt guilty. But she didn't. In fact, she felt _relieved. _Relieved to have dropped the façade of the dutiful daughter, of the pliant princess. "That's all any one has said to me. 'Someday'... 'soon.' They're lying, I know they are! I'll never see my home again! I'll never see Tommen or Myrcella, or my mother, or my father! None of them! I don't _want _to go to Winterfell, I was perfectly happy in King's Landing."

Ser Willam rose and approached her. He warily placed his hands on her shoulders. In the humour she was in, Kenna would have chastised him for being too formal had she not secretly wanted the comfort.

"Sometimes..." he began cautiously, choosing his words carefully so that he would not anger her more. "Sometimes things that we don't want to happen... happen. The world isn't a fairy tale like your septa would have you believe. Things don't always go your way, and when they don't, it's best to make the most it." Kenna's glare softened, and she relaxed under his grip. He was right. Things weren't going her way, but being hostile and bitter wouldn't help her at all. Ser Willam smiled and continued. "Make friends with the Starks. It should be easy. The Starks are known for their honour and kindness, and you have a good heart, even though your lady mother would have you hide it. Treat the Starks well, and they will treat you well in kind. Forgive me, my lady, but perhaps your stay with the Starks will allow you to see what a true family is like. You've grown up with a cold woman for a mother, though she loves you fiercely, a brute for a brother and, well, the king isn't exactly the most ideal of fathers."

Kenna clenched her fists by her sides and shrugged Ser Willam's hands off her shoulders. She might have thought the exact same things, but it didn't give him any right to speak so horribly of her family; particularly her father, the king. Her mother might have been cold, and her brother was certainly a brute, but when he spoke ill of her father, something twinged inside of Kenna.

"You have no right to speak ill of my family, _Ser_," Kenna scolded, narrowing her eyes dangerously at him. Ser Willam looked shocked again. Perhaps she was more like her mother than she thought. _Like the weather. _Her mood had changed from happy to enraged, to composed and then angry once again. "My mother is the queen and my father is the King of Westeros-"

"Who sent you to the land you are dreading," Ser Willam reminded her.

Her glare became even more venomous. It wasn't her father's fault. He only wanted what was best for her. He only wanted her to be happy. His advisers and his family should have dissuaded him, as was their duty.

But if her father really cared for her, then he wouldn't have sent her away. There was a nagging voice at the back of Kenna's head that repeated the sentence that broke her heart. If her father truly loved her, he wouldn't have sent her to the north. He would have known how much it hurt her to leave her family and her life behind, how frightened she was, how alone she felt.

"Get. Out," Kenna ordered quietly, her voice breaking and barely audible. Her vision blurred as tears rushed to her blue eyes. One stubborn tear fell, and Kenna wiped it away as soon as it did. She didn't want anyone to see her cry, and Ser Willam's pitiful expression made her feel weak. He wasn't moving, so the princess yelled. "Get out!"

She grabbed a goblet and threw it at the wall. The goblet shattered, breaking into tiny pieces that dropped onto the floor. _Princesses don't cry. _In that moment, Kenna didn't feel like a princess. No. She felt like a scared little girl.

Ser Willam sent one last uncertain, pitiful look in Kenna's direction before bowing and leaving her on her own. Everything he said was right, and that hurt her even more. Her mother was cold and cared for few things, but she loved her children. Joffrey was a menace. Kenna wouldn't even try to defend him. But her father... in many ways, he was her idol. She admired his battle skills when she was a child, and she sought to make him laugh and smile whenever she could. But Ser Willam was right, and that truth hurt more than anything.

Kenna clutched her stomach and sunk onto her knees, sobbing in her empty room. Since she left King's Landing, ever since she was a child, actually, she had bottled her emotions. It seemed so simple back then. Push back the tears, swallow back the lump and hold up the chin. It was only when she left the safety of King's Landing and her family that she realised how difficult it was to keep herself together. Everything was falling apart now, and Kenna was becoming more and more unhinged.

Her sobs echoed through the room, with no one there to hear.

* * *

"The princess likes to read," Robb heard his mother tell Maester Luwin. "Make sure that there are extra candles in her room, and a bookshelf. Yes. Make sure that there's a bookshelf."

Catelyn Stark rushed about Winterfell, ordering servants and frightening stable boys. Robb had never seen his mother look so stressed, even when his father's bannermen came to Winterfell during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Surely grown men – _northernmen –_ were more important than a _girl _from the south. Even if she was a princess.

He felt his back being patted, and spun around to see who it was. Theon Greyjoy, his father's ward and hostage, smirked before him, along with his baseborn brother, Jon Snow, who looked as solemn as ever.

Robb groaned with impatience when he saw him. He had no time for his friend's mocking. "What do you want, Theon?"

The Kraken merely laughed, and didn't look offended at all. "Nothing, nothing," he assured, waving his hand through the air. But Robb knew that it wasn't 'nothing.' When Theon acted like this, he was usually insufferable. Robb prepared himself for a heavy teasing. "Just wanted to speak with the groom-to-be. Marrying a princess... will that make you a prince? Prince Robb. I think I like it."

"Shut up, Theon," Robb grumbled, storming past him and bumping off Theon's shoulder as he did. Theon was only joking. There was no way his father would force him to marry someone he had never met. Of course, Theon followed him out to the courtyard, with Jon not far behind. Robb decided to ignore him, hoping that they would get bored and go about their day. When that didn't happen, Robb turned around and glared at the two of them. "Seriously, the both of you. _Piss off_."

His outburst didn't have the desired effect, as Theon laughed loudly and Jon smiled. _Of course Jon would smile when I don't want him to. _Robb rolled his eyes and walked on. He wanted to get his sword and hit something. Despite being only ten, Ser Rodrik said that he saw great promise in Robb, if he worked with his sword everyday.

"I heard Lord Stark and Lady Stark discussing it the other night," Theon said from behind Robb, eager to annoy him. Robb clenched his fists by his sides and took a deep breath. He didn't want to give Theon the satisfaction of knowing how much he was annoying him. "Just in case you thought I was jesting. The king wants you to marry his daughter, Robb. You'll be a prince! I think... Maester Luwin discussed it a while ago..."

The rest of Theon's ramblings became like the wind to Robb's ears. His feet wouldn't move, though he willed them to. Theon was lying; he _had _to be. His father wouldn't marry him to some girl he had never met, even if the king demanded it. At the very least he would tell Robb before she came, so he could be prepared. _Or perhaps Father desired to only tell me on my wedding day, _he thought bitterly.

"No," Robb said firmly, shaking his head. He _knew _his father. Making a marriage betrothal behind his back wasn't something his father would do. Robb narrowed his eyes at Theon, who had sauntered in front of him, brows raised in amusement. "He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't. _You _know he wouldn't! He would tell me before he made any promises."

Theon's smirk never fell. In fact, it grew larger and more annoying. He placed a hand on Robb's shoulder and shook him in a brotherly fashion. "Best hope she looks like her mother. They say the Baratheon women look like hideous stags. Antlers and all."

With one last condescending chuckle, Theon was on his way. Robb glared after him, burning daggers into his back. When they were in the presence of Robb's mother and father, Theon was the epitome of a well-governed and chivalrous young man. It was only when he was out of their sight that he revealed his true colours. But despite Theon's irritable ways, Robb considered him to be his brother, in all but blood.

He realised that his true brother – well, _half-_brother, as his mother had made clear many times – was standing behind him. Robb turned around to face him, and sighed heavily. "Do you really think Father would organise my marriage without telling me?" he asked Jon, knowing that if anyone knew his father as well as he did, it would be Jon.

"Without telling you?" Robb nodded. There was an air of maturity about his brother that startled him, regardless of how long he knew Jon. _Bastards grow up quicker, _Jon told him once, and it was saddening how his words were true. Jon shook his head, a rare, small smile on his lips. "No. And even if he did, he would have your best interests at heart."

"I don't want to marry a princess," Robb said, kicking a rock on the ground. He watched it roll a foot before crawling on its side and coming to a halt, sitting lazily in the dirt. "She's a southerner. She doesn't know our ways."

"She could learn," Jon pointed out. "Like your lady mother did."

Robb ignored him, and continued as if Jon had never spoken. "What is the king thinking, sending his daughter to the freezing North? What is _Father _thinking?"

"Ask him yourself," Jon said, nodding towards the castle.

Robb furrowed his eyebrows and followed Jon's gaze. His eyes found Ned Stark speaking with Ser Rodrik Cassel, the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell. He walked over to them, like a man on a mission, not even sparing Jon another glance. The thought of having to marry because of convenience was foreign to Robb, even though his parents married to cement an alliance. He had always thought that, unlike his parents, he would get to marry for love. Robb wasn't fool enough to believe in songs like his sister Sansa. A marriage for love was rare to come across, he knew that, but he still held onto the foolish notion that he would know his wife before he wed her.

"Father," Robb said, keeping his voice firm. He tried to lower his voice in an effort to sound older and more masculine. "I would like to speak with you."

His father's heavy brows furrowed. Robb usually wasn't so grim and serious. His sudden mood change must have come as a surprise to his father. Nonetheless, his father gave a nod and dismissed Ser Rodrik. The master-at-arms had scurried off, but not before sending a baffled look in Robb's direction.

Ned Stark smiled at his son and laid a hand on his shoulder, guiding him towards the godswood. Many said that Ned Stark was a cold man, but to his family he was warm and kind. How anyone could consider his father cold confused Robb. Sometimes he was strict, yes, but never cold.

"What is it that you wish to speak to me of?" his father asked.

Robb was brought back from the depths of his mind to reality. He almost jumped, but steadied himself before he did. He didn't want to look weak in front of his father. "Just... I..." He stumbled on the correct words. It wasn't his intention to offend, only to find out whether or not he was going to be a prince. Would he even be a prince if he was going to marry the princess? Robb wished he had paid attention in Maester Luwin's lessons on rank. "Are you going to make me marry the princess?"

He blurted it out and Robb knew that the statement was childish, but the words slipped off his tongue before he could stop them. None of the sentences he came up with in his head sounded polite or mature, and thus he decided to be blunt. Northmen were usually more blunt than southerners. Robb wondered if the princess was all courtesies and futile manners. The few southerners Robb had met were fake, annoying people, and Robb was thankful that there were few southerners in the North.

His father was taken aback by his question, Robb could see. He straightened his back and recovered quickly, letting a heavy sigh leave him. "No," Robb's father said, shaking his head. Robb exhaled in relief. He wouldn't have to be a stupid, southern prince. _Thank the gods. _"But... the king does wish for a marriage to take place between our two houses. He won't force either of you into it, though. He's given me his word."

"I don't want to be a prince," Robb blurted once again. It was true. He didn't know how to be courteous like a southerner or even how to dance. Septa Mordane tried teaching him once with Sansa. Robb was sure that he broke some of Sansa's toes.

Instead of scolding him, his father chuckled and patted Robb on the shoulder. "Then you don't have to be, son. But if you did marry the princess, you wouldn't be a prince. She wouldn't be a princess any more either. She'd be the Lady of Winterfell after I'm gone."

Robb nodded. It brought him some relief to know that he wouldn't be a prince, but would the princess resent him, if they ever did get married, because she wasn't a princess any more? Would she resent him because she had to leave her home to marry him? Robb couldn't imagine leaving his family to go somewhere as foreign as the South. Northerners belonged in the North, and he supposed the Southerners belonged in the South.

"When is she to arrive?" Robb asked. Perhaps it was shallow of him, but he wanted to see what the princess looked like. He heard that she was pretty, but he heard it from a southerner and they often exaggerated beauty.

"A few days," his father answered.

They were in the godswood; his father's favourite place. Robb liked it too. The trees rustling in the wind and the silence was relaxing and serene. His mother said that she felt like an outsider in the godswood, despite all of her years in the north. Robb supposed that only a northman belonged in the godswood. His father knelt before a tree, with an unrecognisable face carved into the trunk, and beckoned Robb to join him.

"What are we praying for?" Robb questioned as he fell onto his knees beside his father.

His father's eyes were closed, and his head was bowed. It took him a moment to answer. When he did, his reply was boring and traditional. "For the princess' safe arrival. For a short winter and a good harvest."

* * *

The walls of Winterfell were frighteningly tall. Kenna had read about the castle in books, but books did not do it justice. It looked as though twenty thousand men and a catapult couldn't tear it down. The castle seemed impregnable, and somehow the security of the castle made Kenna feel safer.

Ser Willam rode beside her. He too was in awe, staring at the castle with wide-eyes. Their argument the night before was forgotten when Ser Willam apologised for his boldness, but her knight was much more distant than before. He didn't laugh with her, or make jokes. Wasn't that what she wanted? For people to break their backs bowing to her, and for them to honey their words for her?

She felt more alone than before. Ser Willam had been her last friend, her last memory from home, and Kenna had insulted and isolated him. She missed his wit and humour, and his kindness. But Kenna was too proud and stubborn to apologise. Even if that meant feeling alone.

As they neared the castle, the gates opened to let them in. Her breathing quickened, nervousness sneaking in. What if the Starks didn't like her? What if they thought she was a spoilt, selfish princess? She didn't doubt that they were kind people, having heard it from so many others. But what if they thought she wasn't kind? Noticing her anxiousness, Ser Willam placed a hand on her arm. Kenna moved her eyes from the castle to look at his hand, and then at him. She smiled gratefully, feeling slightly less nervous.

Even when she was mean to him, Ser Willam still protected her and showed her kindness. She would be sad to see him go. Maybe someday she'd see him again, when she returned to King's Landing. _If I return to King's Landing. _Kenna was beginning to accept that she might never see her home again. It pained her still, but she would rather be prepared than ignorant of a probability.

Her horse trotted through the gates, and Kenna's heart raced. She glanced around, spotting the Starks almost immediately. The people of Winterfell were lined up in separate lines. The Starks were at the front. Lord Stark was a tall man with dark-brown hair and a short beard. His lady wife stood beside him, almost as tall as he was. Catelyn Stark wore her long, red hair in a plait. Most of her children seemed to inherit her looks, having red hair and sparkling blue eyes.

The Starks had two daughters and two sons. Both boys looked like Tullys, and one of the two girls had inherited their mother's looks. The other girl, the younger one, had inherited the Stark features of dark, brown hair and grey eyes.

Robb Stark stood beside his father. He was a year older than her, and quite handsome. His red hair was cut just before the nape of his neck. His bright, blue eyes found her staring at him. Feeling a blush come upon her cheeks, Kenna took her gaze away from him. Behind the Stark family, there was a boy who was the image of Lord Eddard Stark. Kenna recognised him as Lord Stark's baseborn son. He wore a solemn expression on his face, identical to the one worn by his father. To Kenna, he looked like a puppy dog who had just been kicked.

She dismounted her horse, trying to be as graceful as possible. Lord Stark greeted her first. He bowed his head to her politely. "My lady. May I introduce my family?" Kenna nodded shyly, cursing herself for acting so timid. Lord Stark led her over to his family, introducing her to his wife, who gave Kenna a warm, kind smile. Kenna mustered one in return. Then he moved onto Robb Stark, and Kenna tried not to blush, keeping her eyes on the ground. "My son, Robb."

"My lady," he greeted, taking her hand and kissing it gently. A boy much older than Robb sniggered behind him.

It gave Kenna some comfort when she saw that he was just as nervous as she was. She bobbed a curtsy and replied, "My lord."

Lord Stark introduced her to the rest of his family. The eldest girl, Sansa, was bouncing with excitement, while the younger girl, Arya, looked angry because she was there. The youngest of the family, Bran, was adorable. He gave her a short, clumsy bow and spoke in a babyish voice.

"Father, can I go now?"

The voice was high, girlish and whiny. The five year old Arya was the culprit. Kenna's eyes snapped from Bran over to Arya as her mother scolded the girl. Never before had Kenna heard a young girl speak so improperly. If she had a penny for the amount of times that she had thought what Arya said, Kenna would be richer than Tywin Lannister.

She got over her shock quick enough and smiled widely. Laughter erupted from behind Arya, coming from Lord Stark's baseborn son and the boy beside him. Robb was laughing too, though quietly and under his breath so his lady mother wouldn't hear.

Maybe Ser Willam was right. The Starks seemed to be what a true family was. Maybe she could be apart of their family too.


	3. Tucked Away

**Tucked Away**

In the North, Kenna felt like a fish out of water. The people of Winterfell seemed unsure of her and how they were to act, and that made Kenna feel even worse. Her hands were wet with sweat as she wrung them, and her eyes darted to anywhere but to Lady Stark.

The servants bustled about the castle. Lady Stark ran her castle well. Every one of the servants had a certain place to be and something to do, and nobody clashed. Her mother, the queen, never had much to do in King's Landing. She left most of the running of the castle to Maester Pycelle, the old Grand Maester.

"How do you like the North so far, princess?" Lady Stark asked, trying to break the silence. Kenna didn't feel the need to speak. All that she wanted to do was rest and sleep for a hundred years, but unfortunately there was a feast that night which Kenna had to attend, since it was _for _her.

Kenna fidgeted with her dress, and cursed herself for behaving so timidly. She was a _princess_; princesses weren't supposed to be shy. They were supposed to be well-mannered, charismatic and beautiful. But even though she was a princess, this was not her land. This was the North, and the North was so different from the South. In the South, everyone bended their knees for her. In the North, everyone simply bobbed a curtsy or lowered their heads. Kenna wasn't sure what to make of it.

"It is..." She searched for words, but all the words she came up with sounded rude. _Cold. Miserable. Dreary. Alien. _Kenna continued to play with the fabric of her dark blue dress, eyes set on the wooden floor below her. She remembered the manners and courtesies taught to her by her mother and septa, and honeyed her words. "...lovely. Very different from the South, but very beautiful. And the people are quite kind."

She didn't know if the people were kind, as none of them would speak or smile at her. She missed the familiar faces in King's Landing, especially her family. Gods, she missed her family. Not Joffrey, though. Never Joffrey.

Lady Stark smiled warmly at Kenna. It was the first smile she had seen since they left the courtyard. "This must be quite daunting for you. It was for me, when I first came to the North." While her eyes remained set on the floor, her ears were eager to hear what Lady Stark was to say. "Although, I already had something to tie me with the North." She chuckled quietly. "Two some things, really. I had a husband who was the Lord of Winterfell, and a son who was his heir. But even then, there's something about the North that makes us southerners feel like foreigners, no matter how long we have resided here."

It comforted Kenna slightly to know that she wasn't the only one who felt like an outsider. But if the wife of Lord Eddard Stark and the mother of the next Lord of Winterfell still felt out of place, what hope was there for her? She didn't want to feel like an outsider forever, or for as long as she would be staying in the North. She never felt like an outsider in King's Landing. Kenna didn't like the feeling.

They stopped in front of a door. Lady Stark's hand reached for the knob and turned it. The door made a creaking sound as it was pushed open. Lady Stark stepped aside and allowed Kenna to enter her new room, which was much smaller than her quarters in King's Landing.

But somehow, despite the fact that her room was smaller, it was actually nicer. The compact size made it feel more cosy and comfortable, and _warmer. _When she stopped to think of it, Kenna realised that inside the castle wasn't that cold. She had read that Winterfell castle was built on hot springs, and thank the Gods that it was.

A bunch of furs covered the mattress of her bed. They were thicker than her bed sheets in King's Landing, but not as thick as she expected them to be. By the window, there was a writing desk. Kenna noticed the abundance of candles throughout the room. Apparently, the Starks knew that she liked to read, and they were thoughtful enough to place candles in her room. That made her smile.

"It's lovely," Kenna said, turning around to face Lady Stark. This time, she wasn't lying. The room was genuinely lovely, and homely. She no longer felt grief for her room back in King's Landing. _At least one fragment of my grief has been removed. _"Truly."

Another smile crossed Lady Stark's face. It was warm and motherly. Kenna was beginning to feel comfortable in her presence, although she was still wary. She hoped that someday, she would feel comfortable in Winterfell and in the company of all the northerners. But the North was so foreign, so different, that the prospect seemed unlikely to Kenna.

"I suppose you would like to refresh before the feast," Lady Stark said, seemingly pleased with Kenna's reaction to the room. "I will send a maid up to you with all your things."

Kenna nodded, still looking around her room. Her mother had told her once that a lady should never look too pleased. A true lady was not easily satisfied. So, Kenna kept her face as still as possible, but it was rather trying. She wondered if her mother would put in so much work to make her feel welcome and comfortable.

Lady Stark swept out of Kenna's new room, her skirts following behind her. Once she was gone, Kenna smiled at her surroundings and fell onto her new bed.

* * *

Pleasure flared inside of Cersei as Jaime's seed filled her. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, moaning and groaning her brother's name. She gripped his golden hair tightly, roughly as he liked it and bounced on top of him.

They were both coated in sweat when Cersei rolled off him, falling onto the bed. Her chest heaved as she tried to control her breathing while panting violently. There was many things she liked about sleeping with Jaime. He was handsome, the most handsome man in the Seven Kingdoms, and even though Robert didn't know of their relationship – and _never would_ – Cersei felt as though she was spiting him by being with Jaime. He had his loveless whores, and she had her love with Jaime.

As soon as her pleasure and her breathing settled, Cersei was plunged back into her worries and her sorrows. With Jaime, she could forget about all her problems, but when he wasn't inside of her... they all came back. Her daughter, so innocent and naive, was in the hands of the Starks. Though they were honourable, Cersei feared that they would corrupt Kenna, and turn her from a lion – or even a stag as Cersei had gotten used to the concept – to a wolf.

Jaime rose from the bed to get some wine. Everything about her brother was perfect. From the crown of his golden head to his feet, he was clearly sculpted by the Gods. If they lived in a different world, perhaps it would have been Jaime that she married instead of a drunk whoremonger. Perhaps Kenna would have been Jaime's daughter, and Cersei could have loved her more.

He handed her a goblet of wine. Cersei sat up and took it from him, using the blankets to cover her breasts. Jaime arched an amused eyebrow, although Cersei could see the frustration in his eyes. How she loved to tease him, to make him want her even more.

"Dear sister, you look rather troubled," Jaime said in that nonchalant tone of his, placing himself on the bed beside her. He twirled one of Cersei's golden locks around his finger, swirling his wine with his other hand. Her lock fell from his finger and Jaime's hand slid beneath the covers. "Do you wish for me to relieve you of them once again?"

"No." His smirk was mischievous and suggestive, and Cersei found herself lusting for his touch. But she was tired, and thinking of her daughter in the barren North didn't exactly make her wet. She grabbed his wandering hand with her free one, and gripped it tightly. "Not now. I'm tired."

The smirk fell, and Jaime removed his hand from her. He took a long sip of his red wine, throwing all of the contents into his mouth. "Thinking of dear old Robert's chit of a daughter again?" Cersei pursed her lips together in a thin line. Jaime was angry about how much she cared for Kenna. He believed that since she was Robert's daughter, Cersei shouldn't love her at all. He didn't understand a mother's love. "She's where she belongs. Away from you and away from our children."

"She is _my _child," Cersei reminded him sternly. Her eyes were narrowed dangerously at her brother. Kenna was one thing they could never agree on. Jaime thought of her as Robert's spawn, but Cersei saw herself in Kenna. Nobody would harm or insult anyone related to her when she was around. "She belongs with me."

A long, low growl filled with frustration came from her brother's beautiful lips. "Thank the Gods your husband got rid of her," he raved. Cersei opened her mouth to roar at him, but Jaime spoke before she could. "She threatens our children. How much longer did she have to stay before people started questioning why Kenna had black hair while her siblings had gold? Why her eyes were stormy blue while her siblings' were green? All that it would take is one person, one snake, to speak of it, and the Seven Kingdoms would question Joffrey's right to the throne. Then Robert would hear of it and chop off all of our heads. Yours, mine, Joffrey's, Mycella's, Tommen's... all of us would lose our heads. All because you refused to keep your precious daughter in the North."

Cersei was silent. She knew that he was right. The older Kenna grew, the more people would question Cersei's other children's legitimacy. But still, despite her knowing of the danger Kenna's presence brought in King's Landing, she wanted her daughter near her. She was only _nine_. No nine year old girl should have to live with strangers.

"I wish to sleep," Cersei demanded, attempting to conceal the anger in her tone. She was never very good at hiding her temper.

Jaime shrugged. "Then sleep."

"_Alone_," she commanded, glancing pointedly to the door. Her brother looked shocked, and Cersei might have laughed at Jaime's rare show of emotion if she wasn't so angry. His eyes were seething as he got out of her bed, slipped on his clothes and went to the door. "And Jaime?" He turned around. "Never call my daughter a chit again."

With a sour look on his face and a glare that could kill, Jaime stormed out of her room.

* * *

The handmaiden Lady Stark had sent to Kenna was six years her senior and called Miya. She was quite pretty, with light brown hair, doe eyes, a slender build and pale skin. Miya rushed about Kenna's room, unpacking her clothes and items and helping her get ready for the feast.

"Where are you from?" Kenna asked the handmaiden as she tied the laces at the back of her dress. She was wearing a dark purple dress which was too dark for Kenna's liking. But everyone wore dark colours in the North, and she didn't want to feel more like more of an outsider than she already did.

Miya smiled, her features brightening as she thought of her home. "I come from White Harbour, a city in the coast of the North. One of the few cities in Westeros, actually. My father was a fisherman. And my mother..." Her face fell, and she looked ashamed. Kenna furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. Why would anyone be ashamed of their mother? Of either of their parents?

"What of your mother?" Kenna pressed, forgetting her manners. Curiosity overcame her. It was, perhaps, a flaw of hers. She often wandered into business that was not her own. There was something about other people's lives that intrigued her, and sometimes she poked her nose in where it didn't belong. Her mother scolded her for it many times, but she never listened.

The handmaiden winced. Kenna looked expectantly at Miya's reflection in the mirror, waiting for her response. "My mother..." Miya looked around at everything in the room save for Kenna. Once she was done lacing Kenna's dress, she sat her down by the vanity and began doing the princess' hair. "My mother worked as a... well, she worked for men and their... pleasure, I suppose."

"She was a whore, then?" Kenna blurted without thinking. Miya flinched, eyes widening with shock, but nodded meekly. "On my way North, the men who were bringing me often... enjoyed the company of oddly dressed women. And they behaved inappropriately with them, much like my father had in King's Landing. They spoke of doing weird things with them, and then the men brought the women into their tents. The next morning, they were boasting of their accomplishments with those 'whores' when they thought I wasn't able to hear them." Ser Willam had found her behind a tree, and told her to go back to her tent. Saying that a young lady shouldn't witness such things. He seemed appalled with the men, and that night was the last night Kenna saw the men with whores. "Was your mother ever married to your father? Wouldn't he have been shamed for marrying a whore, even if he was a farmer?"

Ashamed, Miya shook her head. "It was after his wife died. He was grieving and he..." Her eyes were focused on the back of Kenna's head, plaiting her hair into an intricate knot. "He made a mistake. And when my mother died giving birth to me, he took me in and raised me as though I was his trueborn daughter. His other children from his late wife treated me horribly when he wasn't looking, but when he was..." She smiled widely, though the smile quickly faltered. "He died a few years ago, and his eldest son gave me two choices. Leave, or service his guards."

Kenna's face contorted with disgust. She couldn't imagine anyone treating somebody so horribly. "He must have been very horrible. Who would do such a thing?" Not even Joffrey would be so cruel. Sure, he was somewhat sadistic and vicious, but he had some boundaries.

"He wasn't _very _horrible," Miya said thoughtfully, finishing off Kenna's hair by tying the braids with a ribbon. "He was kind to my other sisters. Just not... _me_. I suppose he thought that I was a symbol of our father's betrayal."

"But his mother was dead when your father slept with your mother," Kenna replied, baffled by the situation. It didn't make any sense. How could anyone blame a child for the situation of which they were born into? Poor Miya didn't choose her parents. She was just very unlucky.

Miya shrugged indifferently, but it was very clear to Kenna that it did bother her. How could it not? Her brother – her own flesh and blood – treated her like she was worth nothing. Kenna could sympathise somewhat with her pain, although not to the full extent. _Thank the Gods that I can't._

"Then he must have some other reason, my lady," Miya said dismissively. It would have been clear to any other that she didn't want to speak of her brother, but Kenna was an exception. "Perhaps it is because I am a bastard. Bastards are usually not accepted by their father's families. I never did feel like I belonged there. Nobody ever went out of their way to make sure that I did."

"But why-"

"I would prefer not to speak of it," Miya snapped harshly, causing her lady to flinch. Kenna realised that she had pushed her handmaiden's boundaries too far, and felt bad for it. Miya's features softened when she saw the princess' guilty expression through the mirror. "I am sorry, my lady. I shouldn't be so harsh."

Kenna shook her head. "No. I shouldn't have been so intrusive." She glanced out her window and to the setting sun. The sky was a mixture of reds and oranges and pinks as the dimming sun lowered in the sky. Kenna stood from her seat. "The feast should be starting soon."

"You look beautiful, my lady," Miya said, with a smile that told Kenna that all was forgiven and forgotten.

She looked at her reflection once more, before making her way to the feast.

Winterfell Castle was quite plain in comparison to King's Landing. It was much greyer, and in Kenna's eyes it was drearier. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hall as she walked to the Great Hall. All the servants would be down at the Great Hall, preparing it for the feast.

As she neared the Great Hall, Kenna heard distant laughter and loud japes. She began to panic. Had the feast already started? Was she late? Her lady mother never liked it when Kenna was late. She said that it was rude and inconsiderate to turn up late at a feast. What would the Starks think of her?

She clutched her many skirts in her hands, pulling her dress up above her ankles, and ran towards the Great Hall. The last thing Kenna wanted was to be thought of as a rude princess. But the feast was to start at sundown, Did the northerners have a different definition of sundown?

Kenna almost smacked her forehead with her palm as she sprinted. She _left _at sundown. She was supposed to _be there _at sundown. How could she be so stupid? Now Lady Stark and Lord Stark and all of the northerners would think her a spoilt princess! Her pace became quicker, although Kenna had never been known for her speed.

Suddenly, her head collided with something steady and she fell backwards. As the back of her head thumped against the ground, Kenna heard someone – a boy – groan in pain. She hadn't ran into something. She had ran into _someone_.

That was even more embarrassing. Why couldn't she have ran into a wall or some inanimate object that couldn't joke of her to all his friends? Quickly, Kenna sat up, her head spinning from the sudden movement. When she saw the boy who was her victim, she nearly fainted.

_Robb Stark._

"Oh, Gods!" Kenna exclaimed, covering her mouth with her hands. Of course she'd have to run into the boy her father hoped she would marry someday. "I am so, so sorry! I wasn't looking!"

"Well, _obviously_ not," Robb said in whipping tone as he rubbed the back of his head. He struggled to stand, and Kenna was reluctant to help him up. Sure, she should have been looking where she was going, but Robb didn't need to be so snappy. "Where were you running off to, anyway?"

"The feast, _obviously_," Kenna replied, sarcasm dripping from her usually sweet voice. Had this _boy _no manners? She was a princess... even though she hadn't exactly acted like one. "We're late."

Robb shook his head, a smirk appearing on his face. "No, we're not."

"Can you _hear_? There's laughter coming from in there, which means that there's people in there, which means that we're late!" Kenna gestured furiously towards the Great Hall with her left arm. Robb's smirk infuriated her, just like Uncle Jaime's. But she couldn't yell at Uncle Jaime, or else her mother would have scolded her. She could never quite perfect her smirk. It always turned out like a smile. She folded her arms and straightened her back, trying to act like a proper lady, but her enraged tone betrayed her. "And _stop smirking_!"

Mimicking her, Robb crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm not smirking." Kenna narrowed her blue eyes, preparing to spit a thousand curse words she had learned from Uncle Tyrion and her mother at the insolent boy in front of her. But that wouldn't have been ladylike or proper, so instead she pursed her lips in a thin line. "And in Winterfell, you won't be murdered if you're a minute late. I suppose you would be in the South?"

Kenna's glare didn't move from him. He was mocking her, and Kenna hated being mocked. "It's rude to be late for a feast," she told him, speaking to him as if he was a small child. It was his turn to be mocked, she decided. "You know, if somebody has went through the effort of planning a feast, it's good to show up on time."

"Is that so?" Robb asked, raising one of his brows as his smirk reappeared.

She remained composed. Well, she tried to. Kenna was sure that her eyes were attempting to burn holes in Robb's skull. "Yes. It is," she replied.

His smirk widened, and his eyes twinkled with teasing. All that Kenna desired in that moment was to hit him. "Then, if it's rude to be late for a feast, why are you standing out here talking to me and making yourself later?"

Her arms dropped by her side. In all her frustration with Robb, she had forgotten about the feast. She sent him one last glare, and burst past him, bumping his shoulder as she did. The closer she neared the Great Hall, the more servants there were, so Kenna couldn't sprint there.

"You know, it'd look better if we both went in together," said Robb from behind her. Kenna spun around on her heel, surprised to see him, though not too surprised.

"Have you been following me?" Kenna asked.

Robb shrugged. "I'm going to the same feast you are. And it is my home. You'll look better if you enter with me." He offered her his arm. Kenna eyed it suspiciously, like it was some sort of weapon. Robb rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. "Come on. Time is ticking."

Kenna looped her arm in his, albeit reluctantly. She stayed as far away from him as possible, although that wasn't too far considering their arms were entwined. As they walked towards the Great Hall, Kenna blurted suddenly, "I don't like you."

If Robb was hurt, and Kenna wasn't sure if that was her intention, he certainly didn't show it. He kept on staring ahead of him, at the Hall. After a few moments of silence, he replied, "I don't like you either."

She kept her face as stony as his. Or rather, she tried to.

* * *

"How are you liking your little bride?" Theon whispered, watching the princess eat her food demurely. He smirked when he saw Robb's sour reaction. "What? You don't like her? Why not? She may be a bit... young, but she's obviously pretty." He clapped Robb on the shoulder, causing Robb to tense under Theon's hand. "Oh, come on. Tell us. I'm sure Jon wants to know as well."

Robb glanced to Kenna, hoping that she couldn't hear them. True to Theon's word, Jon did look curious. Both boys leant forward, eagerly awaiting what he had to say. They were like a pair of old crones, desperate for gossip, but Robb wanted to blow off some steam, and ranting had always worked for him.

"She's haughty," he told them in a hushed voice. His eyes darted towards the princess as he spoke, afraid that eventually she would hear them. "She thinks that because she's a princess, that we should all bow to her. And she's uptight. Gods, if I have to marry her..."

"Father won't make you," Jon assured him. It was always Jon who tried to make him feel better, while Theon simply laughed and instilled even more fears in him.

"And anyway," began Theon, with a smirk that could cut glass. He leaned in closer to Robb, positioning himself barely an inch from his ear, and whispered. "There are always ways to loosen her up."

Had he not known Theon as well as he did, Robb would have been shocked. Jon crinkled his nose from the other side of Theon, and looked over to the princess, anxious that she could hear them. Robb smacked Theon, _hard_, on the arm.

"None of which I want to preform," Robb snapped. The thought of doing... _that _still repulsed him somewhat. His mother said that it was natural and necessary. Theon said that it was greatest pastime that ever was, and some other, less civil things. But to Robb, the mere thought of doing it was disgusting.

Theon chuckled mockingly at Robb's expense. "Do you know where to put it, Robb Stark?"

Robb narrowed his eyes at Theon. "Of course I know where to _put it_. I'm not an imbecile." That was a lie, and Theon knew it. Robb knew that it was somewhere down north, but the exact position was unknown to him. His face was beginning to heat up. Robb was sure that everyone could see his bright red face now, and that made him even redder.

"Then you must be frightened of it," Theon teased, reaching out to pinch Robb's left cheek. Robb pushed his arm away with an icy glare. Theon cackled again. "Robb Stark, the heir of Winterfell, afraid of a cunt. What would your father's bannermen say?"

"I'm not afraid of a-"

Another cackle. Robb's glare intensified, and from the corner of his eye Robb could see Jon watching them both warily, ready to intervene if anything went too far. Instead of further provoking him, Theon simply smirked, picked up his goblet and leaned back in his chair. "Imagine what she'll look like in a couple more years. I doubt you'll be complaining about her then. Perhaps you'll even get over your fear of ladies and try one."

The sound of a chair scraping across the floor caused Robb to flinch. Jon had stood, and was scowling down at Theon. Robb was puzzled. Theon hadn't said anything to offend Jon, so why did Jon look like somebody had slapped him?

Before Robb or Theon could react, the only part of Jon that they could see was his back. His fists were clenched by his sides as he stormed out of the hall. Robb looked at Theon, expecting some sort of explanation, as though Theon knew more than he did, but the older boy merely shrugged and drank some more wine.

"Maybe your not the only one afraid of cunts," Theon jested, laying a brotherly hand on Robb's shoulder. Robb glanced down at it, tempted to shrug the hand off. "Looks like Snow doesn't even like the word."

That horrible, scraping sound went through Robb. This time, it was the princess who had stood. For a short moment, Robb saw her glare venomously at Theon, not that he had noticed. The princess stormed out of the Great Hall, her skirts flowing behind her.

Theon looked over to him. "What's their problem?"

* * *

"Boys," Kenna grumbled under her breath, shaking her head. And Theon Greyjoy was the worst of them. As both a princess and a properly raised young lady, she had learned to keep her mouth shut, but her septa's teachings had become a challenge when the heard the Stark boys and the Greyjoy gossiping about her.

_I am not haughty, _she thought to her herself, huffing as she did. _He's the haughty one. Damn Robb Stark. Damn Theon Greyjoy. Damn my father. Damn them all. _The cold winter air hit her suddenly, and Kenna once again became very aware that she was in the North. What made the whole ordeal worse was that soon enough, even the men who escorted her would be gone. _Ser Willam _would be gone.

There hadn't been a day – not in her entire life – that she hadn't seen Ser Willam. He was always around, protecting and watching her. Comforting her, if she needed it. Another important person from her old life, her life in King's Landing, was about to leave her. Kenna was beginning to think that she wasn't worth staying for, or fighting for.

She kicked a stone across the courtyard, receiving some strange satisfaction in how it bounced off other stones. The bottom of her dress was mucky from barely two minutes outside, but there was nobody to scold her in Winterfell. No septa, or mother. She missed Septa Patrys' tut, and the way she shook her head when Kenna did something wrong. She even missed the queen's disapproving scowl, and the way one corner of her lip turned upwards when she was displeased.

A long and heavy sigh alerted Kenna to the fact that she wasn't alone. She stood up and glanced around her, fearful of the presence of someone dangerous, but Kenna couldn't see anyone. Surely a murderer would have attacked by now. It would be best to go inside, Kenna decided, just to be safe. Anyway, what sort of murderer would _sigh _before attacking?

"Princess?"

Kenna spun around on her heel. Jon Snow's black, curly hair was matted with sweat, and his forehead glistened with it. She was about to address him when she realised that she didn't know how to. What did he like to be called? Lord Snow? But he wasn't truly a lord, and the mention of his surname might have offended him. Lord Jon had the same issue. Kenna finally settled on giving him a short, curt nod.

"What are you doing out here?" the bastard asked. Her mother was right, bastards did lack courtesy. No well-raised, trueborn son would be so brusque. As though he could read her mind, Jon Snow quickly added, "My lady."

A laugh escaped her without her permission. Jon Snow looked puzzled, probably thinking the worst of her laughter. "I just... needed some air."

The bastard laughed this time. It was a sweet sound, and something told Kenna that it was an incredibly rare one. Her assumption from when she first saw him was completely accurate, Kenna discovered. He certainly did look – and _act –_ like a kicked puppy. "Feasts can be suffocating. But I thought a princess would be used to it."

She shouldn't have used that excuse. Of course a princess would be used to feasts and banquets. As soon as she could behave properly she was brought to a feast, and since then she had attended an uncountable number of them. Never before had she left without excusing herself. Actually, never before had she left before her septa brought her out. What was the North turning her into?

Kenna sighed, and decided to tell him the truth. "I heard your brother and Theon Greyjoy. He's quite insufferable, isn't he?"

"Robb's not bad. He's not bad at all," Jon Snow quickly defended. Kenna could have smiled at his loyalty to his half-brother. She expected no such loyalty from Joffrey, or even her other siblings. Tommen and Myrcella were kind, but they weren't brave enough to defend her if someone spoke ill of her.

"I didn't mean him. I meant Theon." From the look on his face, Kenna could tell that he agreed. So he didn't like the Greyjoy either. She was beginning to like Jon Snow even more, despite her mother's warnings to not even speak with him. "I didn't like how he spoke about women. He's... repulsive."

Jon Snow nodded. "I don't like how he speaks about women either."

From how her mother described bastards, Kenna would have pictured Jon Snow to be more like Theon Greyjoy. Lustful, haughty and with an arrogant smirk firmly plastered upon his face. But Jon Snow was the opposite of that.

"You're nice," Kenna said, as though testing the words on her tongue. Jon seemed taken aback by her statement. "My mother said that bastards were lustful, lecherous beasts who would grab at power at the first chance. You're not like that."

His brows furrowed and his jaw tensed, and Kenna understood that she that had said something wrong. She hated that feeling. "I'm sorry to disappoint, then," Jon said angrily. She had never seen him angry before. Though, admittedly, she hadn't known him for that long.

"No, no, I didn't mean that," she assured him, holding onto his arm. His eyes darted down to her hand. Kenna silently scolded herself for being so improper, but who would Jon complain about her to? Robb? Theon? Kenna didn't care about what they thought. "I just meant that... everyone always says that bastards are so horrible, but you're not. You're just like me."

Jon scoffed. "You're a princess, I'm a bastard," he said, rolling his eyes. She almost flinched at his harshness. "I think there's a different."

"I don't belong here, I know I don't," Kenna admitted, and all harshness from Jon's face disappeared. It was replaced with kindness and sympathy. Kenna preferred that expression on his face. "And you feel like you don't."

"How do you know that?" Jon asked, looking confused once again. Anger, brooding and confusion. Those were his favourite expressions. "You've only known me for a few hours. How can you possibly know that?"

Kenna grinned. Reading people had always been her forte. She had faith that she would always be right about who she deemed to be good and kind and who she deemed to be bad and cruel. She had never been wrong before.

"I have a gift," she said. "My mother said so."

He quirked an amused eyebrow and shook his head. "We should get back to the feast."

She smiled, having made her very first friend.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Hello! I hope you guys liked the chapter! There will be one or two more chapters until the events of Game of Thrones start. This chapter isn't as long as the previous chapters, but it had everything I wanted in it so I thought that it was enough. Hope you're enjoying where I'm taking this story and Kenna's character and please, do review, favourite and follow. I would love to hear your suggestions and opinions! _

_'Til next time!_


	4. Days of Summer

**Days of Summer**

The sun shone through the closed curtains in Kenna's room. Months had past since her arrival to Winterfell, and she was beginning to tolerate the cold country. The people weren't as horrible as she originally thought. In fact, the northerners were rather kind.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in her bed. Reading until sunrise probably wasn't a good idea when one had lessons the next day. Maester Luwin was her teacher, and Kenna found that he was a much better teacher than Grand Maester Pycelle had been. Unlike Pycelle, he didn't waffle on about all the kings he served or about all the great deeds he had done.

Miya entered her room quietly, a package in her hands. She jumped slightly when she saw that Kenna was awake. "You're up, milady." Miya smiled a kind smile. Of all the people she had met in Winterfell, Miya was the person she was the closest with. "I'm lucky today, I suppose. You were quite violent the last time I tried to wake you."

The last time Miya tried to wake her, Kenna, in her sleepy haze, threw a punch her way. The shaking had startled Kenna, and it didn't help that her sleep was plagued with nightmares about dragons. The dragon-themed dreams were caused by the book she was reading, and the book before that, and the book before that...

"Your nose looks better," Kenna commented, smiling sheepishly at her handmaiden. Miya's nose was swollen the night before, but the swelling had gone down. Though her nose hadn't went back to normal. "I'm sorry. Truly. I'm usually not so violent."

"You don't need to worry, milady," Miya said as she pulled open the curtains and let in the morning sun. Kenna heard the clashing of swords in the training yard, and Theon Greyjoy's loud laughter. "At least I know now that waking you up is like waking a sleeping dragon."

Kenna groaned, holding her head in her hands and glaring down at her book. "Please don't mention dragons. I swear, if I read another book about dragons I'll turn into one."

"To be able to read is a great gift that few have," Miya told her. Due to her background as a farmer's daughter and being illegitimate, Miya couldn't read. It was almost impossible in Kenna's eyes for one to be unable to read. She knew how to read since she was four, but apparently only the better off learned how to read. Miya handed her a small package with Kenna's mother delicate script on it. "A raven came for you, milady. From King's Landing."

Her previous drowsiness was forgotten as she ripped open the package, a huge smile on her face. Inside, there was two letters and a small present. The first letter was from her father. It was disappointingly short, with only five lines excluding the greeting and his sign off. The writing was messy, and Kenna guessed that he was drunk when he wrote the letter. He said that he hoped she enjoyed Winterfell, and that he missed her, as well as a few other sentences that Kenna could hardly understand.

Her mother's letter was longer and more detailed. She wrote of how things were in King's Landing, of Tommen and Myrcella and how they missed her. She complained about her husband, his weight and his drunkenness. The Starks were also complained about, her mother having called them 'the barbarians who took her daughter from her.' Although, the queen did recognise that they had honour.

The only other letters Kenna received were from her uncle Tyrion, although the last letter had arrived days ago, and was already responded to. His letter was light-hearted and humorous, with little to no serious topics within the letter, if one would consider the possibility of the Ice Dragon's existence to be a 'serious topic.'

Kenna opened the present next, a large smile spreading across her features. It was wrapped in dark green paper, with a gold ribbon tied around it. Miya looked over to Kenna from the corner of her eye as she smoothed Kenna's dress, obviously curious.

It wasn't the present that made Kenna happy. Not really. Since she arrived in Winterfell, Kenna feared that her family had forgotten about her. The letters and the present only proved that they hadn't forgotten, and that gave Kenna the happiness she so direly needed.

Inside the box was a beautiful necklace, identical to the one her mother wore. Only this necklace was brand new, and shone brightly as the morning sun hit it. On the chain – which was made of fine silver that only Lannister gold could buy – was a gold and red lion. His jaws were wide, ready to bite, and his tongue stretched from his mouth threateningly.

"It's beautiful," Kenna said as she stared at the necklace. She took it out of the package and held it in front of her, fully admiring its beauty. "But I can't wear it. The Lannisters aren't very well liked here. I don't want to make everyone hate me."

Miya smiled pitifully at Kenna. "I don't think anyone could hate you, princess," she said. "You're too sweet. And you shouldn't let the northerners or anyone else dictate what you wear. If you desire to display your mother's sigil, then display it with pride."

She managed a small smile, but didn't take her eyes away from the necklace. If she was in King's Landing, nobody would judge her for wearing a lion. But here, in the North, Kenna doubted that there was one person who wouldn't judge her. Not even Jon Snow.

"I don't want to make things difficult for myself," Kenna told her handmaiden. Just as she about to put the necklace away, a thought popped into her head and made her smile a rather mischievous smile. "But that doesn't mean that I don't have to wear it. They just won't see it."

It took Miya a second to understand what Kenna was talking about, but when she did the handmaiden laughed. "Would you like a high neck today, milady?"

Kenna smiled, something bubbling in her stomach. Excitement? Exhilaration? _Rebelliousness_?

She was in secret rebellion against the Starks, and it felt strangely good.

* * *

"I'm right."

"No, you're not."

"Yes. I am!"

Kenna glared at Robb. He was unbelievably frustrating. In every lesson, he would insist that her answers were wrong, based on the reasoning that all girls were stupid. To which she would retort that all boys were pompous idiots. Maester Luwin stopped them both before it could go too far. It was a pity, really, because Kenna believed that she was stronger than him.

It was the only time when Theon Greyjoy kept quiet. Occasionally, he would snigger behind his hand as Robb was made a mockery of, but he never spoke. (Kenna was never made a mockery of. She put it down to her being too well-read and intelligent.) Jon's mouth stayed closed as well, only opening it to answer questions.

"Tell her, Maester Luwin," Robb demanded. He showed the maester Kenna's paper, which had her sum written on it. She didn't worry, as she knew that her sum was right. "The order she did the sum is all wrong."

Maester Luwin narrowed his eyes as he checked the sum. Once he was finished, he sighed and handed the paper back to Kenna. "Multiplication before division, princess. Or else the sum is wrong."

She scrutinised her work. Her addition was right, her subtraction was right, her division was right and her multiplication was right. The only flaw was her order, as Robb had said. Damn Grand Maester Pycelle. He was the one who taught her that division came before multiplication.

Robb was smirking triumphantly, as though he had won some great victory. It didn't change anything. Kenna knew that she was smarter than him. Before now, every other time when Robb questioned her answers Kenna made a fool out of him by being right.

The old maester held his hand out for Robb's work. "Robb, if I may." Kenna placed her work on the table as Robb gave the maester his work. She watched the maester closely as he corrected it. "Though your order of operation is without error, your sum is riddled with mistakes."

"What?" Robb blurted, snatching the paper from Luwin's outstretched arm. The smirk was gone from his face, vanishing like the previous air of over-confidence that had surrounded him. Kenna hid a smile behind her hand, while Theon Greyjoy sniggered from beside Robb, who elbowed him in the stomach and grumbled, 'oh, shut up' as Greyjoy yelped in pain.

"There's no need to be competitive," Maester Luwin told them with a small smile. "Or _violent_." As Robb looked sheepishly at him, the maester gave Robb a stern look that still held a trace of humour. "You're free to leave. Today's lessons are finished."

The boys ran out to the courtyard before the maester even finished his sentence. Like a lady, Kenna walked – _dignified –_ to the library. She spent most of her time there reading, or sometimes she read in her room. As well as her lessons with Luwin, she had sewing lessons with Septa Mordane, the Stark's septa. The woman was strict, and had a stern face that never seemed to disappear or change. Even for the quickest moment.

She sat down by the fire and opened her book, which she was nearly finished. Kenna made herself swear that this book would be last about dragons. There were so many other types of books that she should read. Although few other things interested her. War was interesting enough, as were books about Essos or other foreign, less known continents, but none interested her as much as dragons did.

"Princess." Kenna looked up from her book. Sansa Stark, the eldest of Lord Stark's daughters and the second eldest child, stood in front of her. Even though she was only six or seven, Sansa was a true lady in every aspect. Just like her lady mother. Kenna smiled at her and closed her book. "I was wondering if you would like to take a walk with me in the courtyard. If you're not busy."

Sansa seemed very fascinated by everything to do with fairy tales and royals. Most girls in King's Landing were the same. Kenna enjoyed fairy tales immensely, but she knew not to put too much faith in gallant knights or handsome princes. She saw enough in King's Landing to know that few knights were truly gallant, and few princes were truly selfless and brave.

"I would love to," Kenna said, standing up. Sansa's whole expression brightened as a huge smile spread across her face. "I just need to bring my book to my room first."

Once she had left the book in her room, she set off with Sansa to the courtyard. The conversation wasn't exactly riveting. The main topics were fairy tales and gallant men, until Sansa asked about her life in King's Landing.

"There were many tourneys and banquets," Kenna told her, which sparked Sansa's interest immediately. The boys – Robb, Jon and Theon – were practising with wooden sticks in the middle of the courtyard, making loud noises when they won. Well, Robb and Theon were. Jon always hid his victory smile modestly. "And there are a lot of people at court. Lords, ladies and knights."

"Are the knights handsome?" Sansa asked eagerly. "And your brother? Joffrey, isn't it?" Kenna nodded. His name had a tendency to suck all the happiness out of her. "Is he handsome?"

"In an odd sort of way, yes," she replied shortly. Kenna felt horrible when she saw Sansa's wounded look. She didn't know Joffrey, it wasn't her fault. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped."

"Do you not like your brother?" Kenna was shocked at the six year old's perceptiveness. She didn't think that she was as perceptive at Sansa's age. "Is he mean and not princely?"

Kenna bit her lip. She didn't want to shatter Sansa's illusions of princes and knights. That would be cruel. "No. He's..." It was difficult for her to speak of Joffrey in a positive light when she had only ever used negative words to describe him. "...very good. And gallant."

Sansa smiled. Kenna only hoped that she never met Joffrey, because if she did then she would surely be disappointed. Maybe he'd grow in Kenna's absence into the prince Sansa wanted him to be, into someone who didn't smile at the death of his sister's cat.

The sight of Lady Fuzz drowning in her own blood flashed in Kenna's mind. She shook her head, not wanting to dwell on things in the past. But she knew that the image would never leave her. Lady Fuzz's dead body had scarred Kenna, and alerted her of how horrible Joffrey truly was.

There was no hope for him.

"Princess!" Robb shouted, trying to get her attention. Kenna rolled her eyes and continued walking without sparing him a glance, but he kept calling her name. "Princess, want a match?"

"Is he honestly challenging you to a duel? That's not very gallant," Sansa said, scoffing and giving her brother a warning look. Kenna kept her eyes away from him and directed in front of her. "Don't mind him, princess. He's being foolish."

"Come on," Robb said. Theon chuckled from behind him while Jon looked at his brother disapprovingly. "Don't tell me you're scared, princess? And here I thought that you'd never walk away from a challenge."

When Sansa noticed that Kenna had stopped walking, she turned around and saw her glaring at Robb. "You don't have..." Before she could even finish her sentence, Kenna was already marching over to the boys. "It's not proper!"

Kenna ignored her. She grabbed a wooden sword and pointed it towards Robb. It was her first time holding a sword, and she was holding it wrong. Theon Greyjoy never stopped chuckling while Robb's eyes were as wide as saucers.

"Just remember that I'm in a dress," she told him sternly. The last thing she needed was to fall over and for the Winterfell staff to see her undergarments. Robb gulped, though not out of fear. He was probably afraid of getting in trouble. "What? I never thought that you'd be one to walk away from a challenge. The person who looses hold of their sword looses the match. Agreed?"

He nodded silently. Kenna smirked and hit his wooden stick with hers. The knights in the tourneys made it look so effortless and simple. Like dancing. But Kenna didn't feel elegant, and her moves didn't feel light and effortless. In that moment Kenna sincerely wished that she could have learned sword fighting, even though she never had a wish for it before.

Robb was better, obviously since he had training whereas she did not. He wasn't nearly as good as the knights in King's Landing, but they were twice his age. When it was clear that she wasn't going to win by fair means, she looked around to make sure that no one was watching other than Theon, Jon and Sansa before kicking Robb in his left shin.

She kicked him with more power than she originally intended. Robb groaned, dropped his wooden sword and hopped around the courtyard while holding his leg. Theon was clutching his stomach from laughing so hard, and Jon smiled a small, rare smile. Sansa shook her head in disapproval when Kenna glanced towards her, but she was smiling as well.

"Looks like the princess won," Theon Greyjoy commented once he had recovered from his laughter.

Jon patted Robb on the back comfortingly. "Are you alright, Robb? Does your leg hurt?"

Theon snorted. "Not as much as his pride," he said and then added, "Or his masculinity."

It was the first time Theon had successfully made Kenna laugh. Jon sniggered too, though quietly so that Robb wouldn't hear. But he did, and that only wounded his pride more. "Oh, shut up, Theon," he said shortly, straightening himself up. He pointed a finger at Kenna. "That wasn't fair. You kicked me!"

"We never established the rules, did we?" she replied, wearing a triumphant smirk that only served to infuriate Robb more.

"You only won because I let you," Robb insisted. Kenna's smirk fell and was replaced with another one of her glares. "Because you're a girl and I couldn't hit you."

"You can't accept the fact that I beat you," Kenna said angrily. She was tired of his incessant need to prove that he was better than her in every way. "You can't accept the fact that I – a girl – am smarter than you, and you go out of your way to prove that I'm not. You even challenged me to a duel when you know that I've never lifted a sword once in my entire life! Just so you can prove that you're better than me."

"You do it too, Kenna," Robb told her. She was about to scold him on using her name when he continued, leaving her no time to speak. "You're just as competitive as I am."

"The only difference is that I don't challenge you to things you've never learned how to do," Kenna shot back. She knew that she was competitive, but Robb was worse. "Or how about we partake in a sewing competition? We can get Septa Mordane to judge." He made a face that clearly voiced his opinion. To be honest, Kenna didn't want to partake in a sewing competition either. Despite years of practicing, her work wouldn't be much better than Robb's. "_Exactly_."

She returned to Sansa, and walked with her to the solar where they had sewing lessons.

Needlework was much more fun when one imagined that the cloth was a person.

* * *

There was no specific time for when lessons with Septa Mordane ended. Once her sewing was finished – and perfectly done, although Kenna suspected that the septa gave her a bit of leeway since she was a princess – Kenna was allowed to leave. Sansa was finished before her, but stayed to keep Kenna company and discretely help her with her needlework.

The more time she spent with Sansa, the more she liked her. When Kenna first spoke with her, Sansa Stark seemed like little more than a girl obsessed with princes and knights. But as Kenna got to know her, she turned out to be much more than that. She was kind, and helpful, and had a good heart. Though she still annoyed Kenna from time to time, the good far out-weighed the negative.

Kenna held her needlework in her hand as she walked towards her bedchamber. Sansa's help came too late, as even the most skilled hand couldn't have salvaged the mess Kenna made of her cloth. She wouldn't burn it, though. Kenna was too sentimental to burn things.

She was about to open the door of her room when Robb came marching down the hall. "Princess!" he called, and repeated himself when Kenna didn't respond.

"What?" Kenna snapped, whipping around. Her temper wasn't easily kept in check, especially not with people of her own age group. Though there was something about Robb that infuriated her more than anyone else ever had. "Are you going to challenge me to a joust now?"

Robb snorted. "We don't have jousts in the North."

"Are you mocking me again?" she accused, and placed her hands on her hips in an attempt to seem more threatening. Her mother told her that when she was angry, her blue eyes looked like frightening storms, so perhaps she didn't need to try to look threatening. She only needed to enlarge her eyes.

"No, I'm not mocking you," Robb said, shaking his head. "I was just saying..." He let out a heavy, exasperated sigh as he pondered his words, careful not to anger her. Was she really that terrifying? Kenna almost smirked at the thought. "I shouldn't have challenged you to that duel. You're a girl and-"

"It has nothing to do with the fact I'm a girl," Kenna interrupted. Robb looked ready to slap his forehead with his palm. _Well, he ought to learn how to phrase his apologies. _"I beat you, didn't I? And to be honest I'm not even that angry about the duel. I'm tired, I suppose. Of being so competitive with each other. The last three months have been a continuous debate of whose better. I don't want to fight anyone. It's making life difficult for the both of us."

"I agree," he said as he nodded. They both searched for things to say. Robb rubbed his neck awkwardly as Kenna wrung her fingers. "So... truce, then?" He then added, 'princess' as an afterthought, and offered Kenna his hand to shake.

"Truce," she replied, smiling. She clasped his hand and shook it. "We can be friends too. I mean, if you want..."

Robb smiled. "Alright, princess. So friends it is."

He began to walk away from her and to his bedchamber. Before he went too far, she shouted out to him, "And you can call me Kenna. Friends call each other by their names, right?"

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Hello my lovelies! I have to say that I am amazed with the reception this story has received. You guys are awesome! I haven't written a character from childhood before, and I have to say that I'm enjoying it immensely. But she can't stay a child forever, can she?_

_I'm wondering if you'd prefer a time skip (to the start of the series) or if you'd prefer another chapter detailing the events before GoT? The biggest problem with the time skip is that Kenna's character will have changed over time – as people do – and I'm worried that the time skip will make it seem like Kenna is a completely different person. What do you guys think?_

_Also, do you prefer short chapters and more frequent updates or long chapters and less frequent updates? This summer I'm planning on updating more often if life doesn't get in the way (as it often does), and hopefully I'll get pretty far with this fanfic. I'm afraid I don't have a scheduled day for updating, but hopefully I'll be able to update twice a month. And for the reader who was asking if this story is following the TV show: it will for a while, but it'll slowly branch away from the TV show._

_If you guys have any questions or suggestions, I'd love to hear them! _


	5. Tomorrow Never Knows

**Tomorrow Never Knows**

If they were gallant or anything at all like the boys in King's Landing, Robb, Theon and Jon would have helped Kenna up the moment she fell. But instead of checking if she was okay and helping her stand, they _chuckled_. They stood, only a two or three feet away from her, clutching their stomachs and bending over with laughter.

Alys Karstark, the only daughter of the Lord Rickard Karstark, covered her mouth with her hand in order to muffle her giggles. Alys was visiting Winterfell with her father, who was discussing some business with Lord Stark. She was the same age as Kenna, Robb and Jon, and thus she joined in on their games. It was nice having another girl around. Sure, Sansa was kind, but she was a good few years younger than Kenna.

"Oh shut up," Kenna muttered half heartedly. During her three years in the North, she learned to stop taking herself so seriously. It was a good philosophy, she discovered, as life was much more fun when one simply _let go_.

Jon Snow, being the most courteous of the three, was the first to collect himself. He bent down beside her and asked her kindly, "Are you alright?"

Kenna nodded and pulled up her skirt, checking to see if her knee had been cut. Theon whistled as she did, a grin plastered on his arrogant face. The majority of Kenna's companions shot him a glare save for Robb, who happened to be the most tolerant of Theon.

There was gash on her left knee, which had been the first to hit the pavement. "That's not pretty," Jon commented, and Kenna nodded in agreement. It was a bright red colour, due to the blood that was trickling down her leg. "We should get you to Maester Luwin."

He stood and offered her his hand, which Kenna gratefully took. Alys came with them, supporting Kenna along with Jon as she hobbled to Maester Luwin's room. Kenna could hear Theon Greyjoy chuckling behind them, though his chuckles were interrupted when he exclaimed _'ow!' _in pain, which was followed by a 'why did you do that?' Kenna smiled when she realised that Robb was the one who made Theon shut up, as he was the only person left on the courtyard other than Theon.

Maester Luwin opened his door only a few seconds after Alys knocked. He looked at the three of them before his gaze finally settled on Kenna, a small smile on his lips. "Tell me, princess. Did you fall again?" Kenna bit her lip and nodded sheepishly. The maester chuckled quietly. "You ladies should lift up your skirts when you're playing. It's the fourth time this week that either you or Lady Alys have fallen."

"The boys fall too," Alys stated defensively, crossing her arms over her chest. It was a habit that Alys seemed to have. In the short time that Kenna knew Alys she found that when the northerner became defensive or when offended in some way, she always folded her arms. Alys Karstark was prouder than Kenna was, and that was _something_. "And they don't have three skirts to manage."

The maester chuckled again and stepped aside, allowing the three of them inside.

Kenna was about to correct Alys. She didn't have three skirts. She had four.

* * *

For her twelfth name day, Kenna received jewellery and dresses from her mother. Books from her uncle Tyrion. More books from her father, though Kenna knew that the books were sent by Jon Arryn in her father's name. She doubted that the king even remembered that it was her birthday. Even when she was in King's Landing he needed reminding.

Alys snooped about her room, searching through jewellery boxes and glancing at her ever growing collection of books while Miya cleaned the blood off Kenna's dress. However she managed it, Kenna had a nasty fall. She could walk without limping, but the amount of blood that oozed from her wound startled Miya.

"Is there a book in Westeros that you don't have, Kenna?" Alys asked as she flipped through another one of Kenna's books. She found her new friend's nosiness to be endearing, and the way Alys paid no mind to Kenna's station was refreshing. Alys hadn't made preconceptions about her – whether positive or negative – based on her title. "And the majority are about dragons. Thinking of becoming one, friend?"

"Wouldn't it be _fun_," Kenna replied with exaggerated, good-natured enthusiasm. She sat up in her chair and placed her hands on her lap, an excited smile on her face. "I could fly across oceans – across _Westeros –_ and burn cities to the ground. Oh, the _joy_!"

As she slotted the book back into the shelf, Alys snorted. "Thank the gods you're not a dragon. You'd be a rather murderous dragon, I think. What with your horrible temper."

"My _temper_?" she repeated in disbelief. Alys nodded, causing the princess to scoff. She didn't have a 'temper.' Not a horrible one, anyway. "I don't have a temper. You must have me confused with another Kenna."

Alys rolled her eyes, a slight grin etched on her face. "I'm pretty sure I have the right one. The jewels and books gave you away, princess." Kenna stuck out her tongue childishly while Alys simply gave her a rather victorious smile before gazing longingly outside the window, watching the boys play. "I'm _bored_! Can we go outside now, Kenna? Are you feeling better?"

Kenna jumped up and smoothed the new dress she was wearing with her hands. "Perfect. Hopefully this dress won't get stained with blood."

"You're such a _girl_," Alys commented, pulling her cloak over her.

"Is that a crime, sweet Alys?" Kenna asked, hooking her arm into the crook of Alys' once they were both ready in warm clothes. "And last time I checked, you were a girl too."

She snorted. Alys' snort was becoming one of the sounds Kenna heard most frequently. "Not as much as you." She placed a dramatic hand on her heart and began speaking in a girlish, high-pitched voice. "'Oh, my dress is stained with blood!' 'Oh, my golden gown is ruined! Let's ignore the fact that my knee is bleeding. The gown... the _gown_!'"

"Hey! I am _not_ like that!" Despite being the reciprocate of Alys' jests, Kenna laughed and hit Alys on the arm. To Alys, even the women in Winterfell would be considered 'too girly.' She had three brothers, and if their father Lord Karstark was anything to go by, the Karstark men were very masculine. "When I fell I didn't think of my pretty blue gown for a second."

"Mhm," Alys hummed sarcastically. "_Sure_."

Thanks to Alys, Kenna had discovered that it wasn't only boys who could be infuriating. Girls were perfectly able to be infuriating as well. In fact, Kenna thought that somehow Alys was the more infuriating. But she was Kenna's first real female friend, and she enjoyed Alys' company even when she was being aggravatingly annoying.

Theon's face lit up with a smirk when he saw them. "My ladies!" he bellowed, approaching them and bowing. Kenna rolled her eyes, and from the corner of her left eye she saw Alys do the same. "Come to play some more? Best be careful. Today wasn't the first time one of you fragile ladies tumbled over your skirts."

"Oh, shut up, Greyjoy," Kenna said. She squared her shoulders threatening and straightened her back. In the past year or so, Theon had growth spurt, but Kenna was still around the same height as him, only an inch smaller. "Or I'll show you just how fragile I actually am."

His smirk didn't go away, and only grew larger. Robb 'oohed' and picked up the ball that they had been playing with, watching the exchange between Kenna and Theon with interest.

"Is that a challenge, little lady?" Theon teased, leaning closer to Kenna so that his breath could be felt on her cheek. Was this what _flirting _looked like? It was different as to how the lords flirted with the ladies in King's Landing, or how her father flirted with kitchen maids.

She didn't appreciate his 'flirting', as she scoffed and pushed him away, not a hint of blush on her cheeks. She marched over to Robb and wrestled the ball from him, though his distraction, as he would later claim, made it easier for Kenna.

"Boys against girls!" she yelled, and rolled the ball on the ground. With a swing of her foot, she kicked the ball over to Alys. Theon, Jon and Robb only stared, their mouths slightly agape. "Come on, boys. If you're not too _fragile_!"

* * *

Later that night when Kenna was in bed, there was a knock on her door. Her brows furrowed. It was nearly midnight. No one left their rooms after midnight. The only people that were supposed to be out of their beds was the guardsmen.

She closed her book and placed it on the bed side table. Her eyes were heavy from tiredness, and her hair was dishevelled. Whoever was at the other end of the door... they better have had a good reason for knocking on her door.

When Kenna opened it, she realised that the person most certainly did.

"Alys?" Her friend's eyes were puffy and red rimmed from crying. Kenna stared at her for a moment, almost shocked that Alys – Alys Karstark, perhaps the toughest person Kenna knew – was _crying_. Once she gathered herself, she stepped aside. "Come in. What happened?"

"Father's going home," Alys told her sadly. "Back to Karhold. And he's taking me with him. I asked him if I could stay here, that I had made friends, and he... he yelled at me. He said that I was useless." She choked on a sob, and clutched her heaving stomach. "That I couldn't even do the one thing he told me to."

Kenna led Alys to the bed and sat beside her. "What did he tell you to do?" Alys bit her lip, setting her eyes on the floor, seemingly determined not to look at Kenna. "Alys, you know that you can tell me anything."

"It's so embarrassing," she whispered, shaking her head in shame. Kenna held her hand in her own, gripping it tightly in encouragement. Alys made sure not to look at Kenna when she answered, her face reddening into the shade of a tomato. "He wanted me to charm Robb. He wanted me to be the next Lady of Winterfell, even though you and Robb are betrothed..."

"No, we're not," Kenna corrected quickly. It was a confusing situation, but her and Robb would only be betrothed when they sent word to their fathers that it was their desire. Though it didn't seem likely to Kenna that they would ever want to wed. She shook her head. Alys was crying. She didn't need to hear about Kenna's confusing betrothal. Or non-existent betrothal. "It's... complicated. You don't need to feel ashamed, Alys. Lord Karstark is your father, as his daughter you are expected to do as he tells you, no matter how unfair it seems."

"It seems horribly unfair that a father can force his daughter to flirt with a boy for his advantage," Alys said, wiping the tears from her cheeks. "I'm done crying. My father hates when his children cry. Says it's a sign of weakness. I love him, Kenna. I really do. He's my father, after all. But I don't want to go back to Karhold. Back to being the invisible daughter next to his strong sons. There has to be a way. Help me, Kenna. You're a princess. There must be something you can do."

Kenna was about to tell her that even though she was a princess and daughter of the king, there was honestly very little that she could do, but then she saw the hopeful, pleading look in Alys' eyes, and her words turned to ashes on her tongue.

"I'll try," Kenna promised. Alys piped up, her face splitting into a large grin. "But I can't promise anything." She nodded frantically in understanding. Her hopefulness made Kenna smile. "You can sleep here tonight. In case you bump into any guards on your way back to your rooms. How did you slip past them anyway?"

Alys smiled a mischievous smile before spilling her sneaky ways to Kenna.

She never knew that Alys was such a wicked mastermind.

* * *

All of her conversations with Lord Stark had been small, and about nothing of particular interest. He was kind, though cold with those not apart of his household or whom he considered to be friends. Kenna wrung her hands nervously and chewed her lower lip. In her head her mother chastised her, as the queen often did. Even after three years, Kenna hadn't forgotten her mother's voice. Nor her father's.

The guard outside of Lord Stark's chambers announced her. Once he had his permission, the guard let her inside. Unsurprisingly, Lord Stark's rooms were not as lavish as she remembered her father's to be. From what she heard, Lord and Lady Stark shared a bed, unlike Kenna's parents. It explained the slight decoration in the room. Like most rooms in the castle, Lord Stark's chambers were more cosy than lavish.

Lord Stark looked up from his desk and placed his pen on the table. He smiled warmly at her, no doubt sensing her nervousness. "Princess Kenna. What brings you here? Is something troubling you?"

"No, my lord," she answered, clasping her hands in front of her in an attempt to stop fiddling with them. Her mother's voice echoed in her head, telling her to stop acting like a nervous fool. "I'm sure you know that Lord Karstark will be leaving soon." Lord Stark nodded. "Alys Karstark has become somewhat of a friend to me, and to Robb, Jon and Theon. Her father wants her to go back to Karhold, but I was wondering if somehow she could stay. I don't want to trouble you, my lord. You must be so busy..."

"I will talk to Lord Karstark as soon as possible," he assured, favouring Kenna with a kind smile. "I'm sure he can be persuaded to allow his daughter to stay."

Kenna's jaw slacked. She was shocked that it had been so easy. That morning she had rehearsed what she was going to say twice – to both Miya and Alys – and if Lord Stark hadn't agreed, Kenna was in the process of creating a very intricate plan so that Alys could stay.

After the shock had passed, Kenna breathed a happy sigh of relief before a large smile broke out on her face. _Alys can stay! _She searched for words, having forgotten to prepare for this part. She settled on a simple 'thank you.'

"You can run along now," Lord Stark told her fondly. "And tell Lady Alys that she need not worry about leaving Winterfell. There will be a room for her for as long as she desires it."

Kenna nodded and bobbed a small curtsy before almost skipping into the hall. She threw her head back and laughed. It had all been so _easy_! Her previous respect for Lord Stark had grown. _Ten fold_. Alys could stay in Winterfell for as long as she wanted to. Or until she was wed. The later being more likely, Kenna reasoned.

"Why were you talking to my father?" Kenna spun around. Robb Stark certainly had a habit of sneaking up on people. Or bumping into them. It was a quirk that, in three years, he hadn't grown out of. "And why are you so happy?"

She folded her arms, still grinning. "Perhaps I enjoy talking to your father. He's a very funny man, you know." Robb shot her a stern look. All of Westeros knew that Ned Stark was in no way a 'funny man.' "Alright. I was talking to him about Alys. Now, if you're perfectly satisfied..."

Robb grabbed her upper arm and held her back when she tried to move. "What about Alys?"

"Why are so nosy?" Kenna shot back. "_Honestly_. This whole conversation has consisted of you asking me twenty questions and stopping me from going somewhere where I am _needed_."

"What happened to Alys?" Robb repeated himself. Kenna rolled her eyes. Why did he feel like he needed to know everything that happened in Winterfell? "Kenna, tell me. I care about her." Kenna's expression darkened without her knowing as her stomach churned with an emotion somewhat familiar. _No way... _"She's my friend as she is yours. If something is wrong..."

Her stomach settled then, and her expression looked almost relieved. "Nothing's wrong. Robb. Not anymore. Lord Karstark is going back to Karhold and he wanted to bring Alys with him." Robb's eyes widened as he started towards his father's chambers. Kenna grabbed his arm. "But he's not now, silly. That's the reason I was talking to your father. He's going to persuade Lord Karstark to keep Alys here."

Robb blinked. "So she's not going to Karhold?"

Kenna rolled her eyes at his slowness. _Boys_. "No. She's going to stay here. It was surprisingly easy, actually. I had a very detailed plan to put into action if your father chose not to intervene."

"What was this plan?" Robb asked.

She grinned wickedly at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes that Robb hadn't seen before. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

As he stood there, dumbstruck, Kenna whipped around, hitting him with her dark hair before skipping off happily. Robb stared at her retreating form, frozen by a princess who continuously confused him with her ever-changing and unpredictable personality.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Hopefully this chapter didn't seem like a filler. Alys Karstark is a character from the books that I really liked, and she'll be playing an important role in this fic. I've decided that there will be one more chapter of similar length before the events of Game of Thrones, and then chapters should be around 5,000 words. I've made a plan for where I'm going with this fanfiction, and it won't be as happy and fluffy as the past few chapters have been. I hope you like where I'm going with Kenna's character, and her relationship with the characters in this. The issue with Alys Karstark might seem pointless, but it portrayed a trait of Kenna's that I think is important. That she is infallibly loyal to the people she cares about. By the way, I'm continually blown away by the reception this story has received. So I'd like to thank you guys for that!_

_Any suggestions, criticism or thoughts? Tell me what you think! _


	6. Beneath the Shade

**Beneath the Shade**

_My darling daughter,_

_Your siblings and I are very well. Myrcella has grown into a beautiful young woman, although I worry for Tommen. He is too kind and weak. There are people who would exploit his benevolence, which is why I have been trying to make him stronger. Your brother Joffrey has grown into a handsome and strong man, capable of ruling all Seven Kingdoms when the time comes._

_I have been arguing with your father on your behalf about the betrothal with Robb Stark. You write that he is handsome, but trust me, he will grow into a man as savage as any northerner, or as stoic as his father. __Do not do anything you cannot reverse, and do not let him trick you into falling in love with him. This betrothal will be broken soon, my dear, __and you will be back with me. Where you belong._

_Your father is resistant, but I am slowly wearing him down. He grows tired of our arguments, and of my revenge. I have devoted my life to making his a living hell. Until you return, I will not cease doing so. He has taken you from me. I will do anything and everything to get you back._

_The fact that you have not flowered yet has been convenient, since I am sure your father would have married you to Robb Stark the day after he received word. Someday, you will bleed. I pray that day will __come when you are with me in King's Landing._

_Your loving mother,_

_Queen Cersei of House Lannister_

She closed the letter and slipped it inside her pocket. Her mother still believed that she was miserable, that she was being manipulated or tricked by the Stark's. Though she loved her mother with all her heart, she found her ramblings to be almost frightening. Kenna shook her head, and tried to forget about the letter.

Robb's nameday was to be a grand event, as a way to celebrate his entrance into manhood. The last grand event in Winterfell had been little Rickon's birth. Six and ten didn't seem like a significant nameday to Kenna, but according to Lady Stark celebrating a boy's fifteenth nameday was of utmost importance, as it informed the lords of the land that the heir was capable of leading them, should anything happen to Lord Stark.

Kenna had been entrusted with the _vital _task of organising where the guests were sitting. It was a task that gave the illusion of importance, when really it was of little to no significance. It seemed to Kenna that Lady Stark simply wanted to give her something to do. "Someday you will be managing Winterfell. Best to begin early," she had said.

The guests were all members of the household of Winterfell. There were no lords or ladies to seat away from each other, so Kenna couldn't fail on that end. The only way she could use her brain was by making an effort to sit the guests with their friends. And even then it was simple, as the guards were friends with the guards, the maids were friends with the maids and those who worked in the stables and outdoors were friends with other people who worked in the stables of outdoors.

It was a way of saying 'you're ready, but you're not ready.'

Theon Greyjoy sauntered over to her with an arrogant grin plastered on his face. Kenna was beginning to think that his face was just shaped that way, that he had no control over it. Perhaps he had some sort of ailment that disfigured his facial features. There was such a thing, as Kenna remembered one of the court ladies having an unsymmetrical face.

"Can I help you?" Kenna said. Having grown board of writing names on a page, she was drawing shapes in the boxes with the names in them as to distinguish the person's profession. "I happen to be very busy."

He snorted, and looked from the seating chart to her with an eyebrow raised. "Drawing inside boxes? What a stressful life you live." Kenna rolled her eyes and went back to making the seating arrangements. She was silently cursing Theon for ruining her fun when he laid a finger on one of the boxes. "Is that supposed to be a sword or a horse?"

She smacked his hand away from the page, causing Theon to chuckle like he had accomplished something. "Don't you have somewhere to go? I don't mean to be rude, but your presence isn't exactly benefiting me."

The smirk was still set on his features as he sat on the chair beside her. "Judging by your reaction to seeing me, _princess_, you've probably heard about my present for Robb."

Alys said something about it, though she didn't specify what the present was. She had tip-toed around Kenna, though, and made sure to avoid the topic after that. When Kenna asked her about it again, she shifted the topic to dresses and what they were wearing.

"I've heard about it. But nobody will tell me what it is." His smirk became smug. She balled her fists and in high-pitched voice continued pressing him. "Tell me, Theon! You obviously want me to be affected by it, whatever it is. How can I be affected by it if I don't know what to be affected by?"

That had gotten through to him. He leaned in closer to her, his eyes bright with mischief, and settled her curiosities. "I'm bringing him to a brothel." Kenna felt her jaw slack. He appeared to be pleased by this reaction. "I thought that he needed to become a man in all ways. What better way than to have him fuck a woman?"

She couldn't bring herself to chastise Theon for his language. All remarks turned to ash on her tongue. Her stomach was churning and she could hear her heart in her ears. She was being pathetic, and she felt disgusted with herself for showing Theon that she was affected by Robb sleeping with a woman for the first time. But when she opened her mouth to respond and to recover some dignity, all that came out was a melancholic '_oh_.'

"I would have offered you up for the job," Theon started again. Kenna snapped herself back to reality and pushed the thought of Robb kissing another woman to the back of her mind. "I mean, if you _were _a woman."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kenna demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Well, you haven't bled yet." Her eyes became as wide as footballs. How did he _know_? As though he could hear her thoughts, Theon answered them. "The whole castle knows. You should really be careful as to who you have changing your sheets. Maids are very talkative when they're... _you know_."

Her face contorted in disgust. There were things – like Theon's bedroom activities – that she didn't need to know. "Enough of that. I don't need to know what you do with the maid. I wonder if they see sharing your bed as a choice or an obligation because you're of a higher station."

"Of course it's their choice," Theon said, and scoffed as though Kenna's statement had been the most bizarre thing ever said. "Who wouldn't desire me? I bet that if you were a _proper _woman, you would be _aching _for me."

She smacked him on the arm and shot him a venomous look. For some reason, Theon seemed to enjoy pain and being smacked. "You are disgusting. And I have never and will never 'ache' for you."

"And if we were the last two people in the world?" Theon asked as he leaned closer to her.

Kenna edged closer to him in response, and made it so that their faces were inches apart. "Then I would happily die a virgin." She smirked at his expression before returning to work on the seating arrangements. "Now, be gone with you. This requires complete concentration."

Surprisingly, Theon went to leave without much of a fight. She thought she was free of him, until he turned around and spoke again. "You can die a virgin, princess. But Robb Stark certainly won't."

She glared at him and threw her quill, though the quill only hit his back and caused him to chuckle.

The worst part was that Theon Greyjoy had showed his true colours in public, within hearing of Lady Stark and Maester Luwin. And nobody even heard him.

Robb Stark had the worst timing, Kenna decided, when he approached her just after Theon had informed her of his plans for Robb. She was still glaring at Theon's retreating figure with such ferocity that one would wonder why Theon hadn't burst into flames yet. Kenna wished that he would.

Being the noble gentleman that he was, Robb bent down to pick up her quill and offered it to Kenna while observing at her with a mixture of fear and confusion. "What happened with you and Theon?"

"Never you mind," she replied snappishly as she snatched the quill from Robb's hand. She wrote furiously on the page, though instead of writing she drew symbols. "I hear you're going to a brothel today. You must be excited."

He sat on the chair next to her. Kenna wondered if there was something about her that made people think she _wanted _company. "It's Theon's idea of a nameday present. He thinks that it's about time I become a 'man.'"

"You don't sound particularly excited," Kenna observed, not even sparing him a glance. Her stomach felt odd, like it did when her mother gave Joffrey more attention and affection than Kenna. Was this...? _No_. _Most certainly not._

Robb shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose I am – wait, is that supposed to be a dog?"

Kenna gave a heavy sigh. "No, they are horses. Can we focus on the topic on hand? The whorehouse. What do you think about it?"

The flustered expression he wore gave her some pleasure, at least. He knew that if he said the wrong thing, Kenna would jump on him like some sort of animal. "I think that it's a house, where there are women who offer themselves in exchange for gold..." He stopped when saw her expression, but then he laughed and held up a hand and suddenly Kenna became the confused one. "Wait. Kenna, are you _jealous_?"

It was her turn to be flustered, and Robb seemed to take joy in that switch. "What?" she exclaimed with furrowed eyebrows. "No. Of course not. It's not like we're married. We might be betrothed, but we're not _married_. You can do as you wish. Lie with all the whores in Winter Town if you so please. And the kitchen maids if you find that your urges won't wait." She huffed and shook her head. "Me, _jealous_? What gave you such an idea?"

Robb knitted his eyebrows together. "Well, you were irritable after talking to Theon, which I'm guessing was about his girt?"

Kenna scoffed as she pushed out her chair and stood. "Theon and I talk about things that don't involve you, Robb. Gods, when will you realise that the world does not revolve around you?"

Shaking her head and mumbling incoherent words, Kenna stormed away from him speedily, as though he carried some sort of disease. His eyes followed her out, wandering to places that they shouldn't have been.

* * *

"You will do this for me, won't you, Lysa?" Littlefinger asked as he cupped Lysa Arryn's ageing face in his hands. His eyes bore into her bright Tully blue ones. "You will not cower at the last moment. It is imperative that you do this."

"I know. I won't disappoint you, Petyr. I promise," she swore. Lysa was so in love with him, which made her the perfect pawn. Love was a weakness, and it made a person completely bendable to another's will, as long as they knew how to fully utilise it. Littlefinger was an expert on the matter. "I only wish that you'd tell me why this is so important."

Littlefinger tilted his head to the side, pretending to feel regret over the fact that he couldn't tell her. "You know that I can't, Lysa, It would put you and your son in danger."

"I wouldn't want that," Lysa agreed, though disappointed that he couldn't inform her of his plans. He was doing it to protect her. Because he loved her. "But if I do this, you will come to the Vale and marry me, won't you?"

He smiled at her in strained kindness. Lysa didn't noticed the forced nature of his smile, and how it was almost a grimace. "Of course, my love. We will be wed as soon as possible." He took her hand in his and closed a vial of poison in it. "Tears of Lys. Impossible to detect. They will think he died of a fever or some other ailment."

Lysa nodded. Her stomach twisted with guilt. It was worth it, she reminded herself. She deserved happiness. She had done her duty, and Jon was an old man. He had lived a good life. "I am doing this because I love you, Petyr. Do you love me, as I love you?"

His skills in lying were really surpassed. Littlefinger kissed Lysa on her forehead. "With all my heart."

There had only ever been one woman that Littlefinger loved, and it was _not _Lysa Arryn.

* * *

"Go on in then," Theon said as he patted Robb on the back encouringly. Robb stared, conflicted, at the door where inside the whore Theon bought for him would be. "Are you scared of a pair of tits, Robb Stark?"

Robb huffed, and tried to mask his hesitation by simply looking indignant. "Of course I'm not afraid of a pair of tits. What I am afraid of is my father finding out I went to a brothel. You know how he is."

To Theon it was so simple. He would just walk into the room and lie with the whore, as though it was of no importance. Perhaps it made him less of a man, but Robb had always wanted his first to be with a woman he cared about. Not with a woman who was paid to love him for an hour.

"And yet somehow he has a bastard son," Theon quipped. Robb rolled his eyes, though he couldn't deny that Theon was right. The kraken rested a brotherly hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Lying with a woman isn't wrong, Robb. It's _natural_. And it's not like you're dishonouring her. If anything, you're doing her favour. Whores need men and virgins to make a living."

"I suppose you're right," Robb admitted, not wanting to tell Theon the real reason as to why he didn't want to lie with a whore. He wouldn't understand, and would be more than happy to tease him for being too 'emotional' about lying with a woman.

Theon's grin became larger. "Great." He patted Robb on the back, effectively pushing him inside. "Now in you go. When you come back out you'll be a real man!"

His chuckling followed Robb inside. The room was dimly lit by candles, and the shutters had been closed to give the room an erotic feel. But Robb didn't feel aroused, he just felt nervous. On the bed, the whore Theon purchased for him was sprawled out in the silk sheets. Her breasts were plump, round and creamy. Robb felt his breeches tighten as he stared at them.

The woman slowly crawled off the bed and stood. Robb could see her whole body now. She was kissed by fire, her hair being a bright shade of red that fell past her breasts in an abundance of curves. Her stomach was small and her hips were large and womanly. He didn't think he had seen such a perfectly shaped woman in his life. Though, he never did know what they were hiding underneath all those layers of clothing.

"My, you're handsome," she commented as Robb ogled her body. _This feels wrong, _Robb thought, though he doesn't know why. Many boys his age – no, many _men –_ have lain with women. Why should he be different? "Your friend Theon says it's your first. Best make it special then, hm?"

Robb nodded, and dragged his eyes to meet the woman's. He was a Stark of Winterfell and heir to the North, he didn't want this woman to tell the whole of Winter Town that he was a wimp, afraid of his own cock. "What's your name?" he asked, and Robb could tell that she was surprised by the question.

She sauntered towards him, moving her hips seductively like some sort of enchantress. She began to untie his breeches, and smirked when she felt his aching cock. "I'm whoever you want me to be, my lord."

He laughed, having sort of expected that answer. "Honestly, though. What is your name?"

The woman looked up at him as though he was of another race. A different creature. Apparently not many customers bother to ask the whore her name. Robb needed to know it. He didn't want to think of her as anyone else. That would be most ungentlemanly, for both her and the woman he would think of. _Gentleman, _he thought ruefully, _how can I be 'gentlemanly' when I am in a whorehouse? _

"Ros," she answered after a few moments of silence. Her eyes flashed with something akin to wonder as she stared at him. "My name is Ros."

She removed his breeches. Before long, Robb was as naked as his nameday. Discovering her name helped Robb to become less uncomfortable, as he had been before. Ros glanced down at his cock, and smiled approvingly at it's size. Robb beamed with pride as the corners of his lips twitched upwards.

Ros sunk to her knees and took his cock in her small, soft hands, rubbing it swiftly. He felt himself harden, his cock becoming fully erect. She then took him in her mouth. _All _of him, as though her throat had no end. Robb groaned. Never had he experienced such pleasure. Such ecstasy.

But one face kept popping up in his head. One face that he kept on having to push back. He would not dishonour the princess in such a way. It didn't matter that he knew Ros' name, apparently, because hers almost rolled off his tongue every time he felt a rush of pleasure.

When Ros was finished with him, she led him over to the bed and pushed him onto it before climbing on top of him. _Ros. Her name is Ros. _He repeated the sentence in his head over and over again, but it didn't have any affect because _her _name was still on his tongue. And her face was still in his head. Her stormy blue eyes, her kind smile, her high-pitched giggle... Not matter how many times he reminded himself that this woman was Ros, Kenna's face would always be the face he saw.

Just as Ros was about to lower herself on top of him, Robb jumped up, though he made sure that Ros didn't topple over. "I can't," he said. Robb had never felt like such a wimp before in his life. "When I close my eyes, I see her. Only her."

"I can be whoever you want me to be, my lord," Ros told him, still startled by his sudden change of heart. Robb noted that she didn't seem too surprised. She was probably used to scared, nervous virgins. "That's why I'm here."

Robb shook his head and pulled up his breeches in a rush. "I can't. I couldn't dishonour her like that."

"She would never know," Ros said, but Robb only shook his head, firm and adamant in his decision. Ros folded her arms over her naked chance as she studied him. "You really like this girl, don't you?"

He hadn't thought of her like that before. All he knew was that lately, during the past few months, he had begun to see her as less of a friend who was fun to hang around with, and more of the beautiful woman she had become. The prospect of marrying her was no longer a duty in Robb's eyes, he considered it as more of a luxury than anything else.

"I don't know," Robb replied, somewhat lost in thought. "I suppose so."

"What's her name?" Ros inquired, causing Robb to regard her oddly with a goofy smile on his lips as she shrugged on a robe. "Oh, come on, my lord. Is she a maid? Or is it something even more scandalous? Is she a lady with a scandalous past? Did she share a bed with someone before marriage? Oh, the horror!"

"No, nothing scandalous," Robb answered, laughing at Ros' bizarre speculations. "In fact, it couldn't be less scandalous. Both my father and hers wanted us to fall in love."

Realisation dawned on Ros' delicate, pretty features. "Is it that princess you're betrothed to?" she blurted, and laughed when she saw Robb's shocked expression. "Men talk when their happy. And it's not exactly a closely guarded secret, is it, my lord?"

"How much information are you privy to?" Robb asked, extremely curious. Whores could have an abundance of important information under their belt, and probably would spill everything if given the right price.

Ros smirked in response. "You'd be surprised. I know that Princess Kenna hasn't bled yet, and until she does you can't marry her. How long are you willing to wait, my lord? Before you know it, you'll succumb to madness or, perhaps, join the Night's Watch. Which would be a pity, in my opinion. Since your cock is too wonderfully large and promising to become frozen."

"It won't be that long," Robb said firmly.

She boomed with laughter. "And what do you know about the bodies of women?"

"Enough," he insisted, and handed her a coin once he was fully dressed. "Anyway, she's worth waiting for."

"Sounds like true love," she quipped. "What's the coin for? Your friend's already paid for it."

"For your troubles," Robb told her. "And can you not mention this to Theon? I'd never hear the end of it."

No longer laughing, Ros inspected the coin Robb had given her before answering. "Of course. And don't you know whores always keep their word?" She shot him a wink.

"I remember hearing that somewhere," Robb replied with a small chuckle. In truth, he was sure that not a soul had such a thing before. He reached for the door and twisted the knob, but before he opened it Ros spoke again.

"She must be some woman," Ros said, all cockiness and arrogance having evaporated from her tone.

Robb stopped, but didn't turn around. A small smile grew upon his lips. "You have no idea."

* * *

"Remind me, again," Miya started tiredly as she and Kenna examined the fabrics in the shop. Kenna had to drag her along since, as a lady, she constantly needed a chaperone. "Why is it that you need another dress? You have around twenty, my lady."

"For the feast tonight, of course," Kenna replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She craned her neck to look out the small window, and Miya saw the brothel on the other side of the road. And then she knew. "I've been wearing the same dresses over and over again for the past year."

"You know that the dress wouldn't be ready for tonight," Miya pointed out, but she was sure that her mistress was well aware of that fact. "Not even if the fabric was given to the fastest seamstress. But you don't want a dress, do you? You want to see Lord Robb."

Kenna glanced, wide-eyed, back to her handmaiden. How had she deduced that? Miya was more intelligent than she seemed. Kenna would have to keep that in mind for future plotting. "No, Miya. That's stupid." She tilted her head to the side with disbelieving look etched on her features. Kenna broke. "I just want to see if he's smiling and happy."

"Because you hope that he's not?" Sheepishly, Kenna nodded her head, causing Miya to tut and shake her head. "He's coming out of a brothel, my lady. Where he has lain with a woman for the first time. Of course he would be happy! You're torturing yourself."

A woman with red hair walked into the shop then, but Kenna couldn't bring herself to stop looking at the brothel. Where, inside, Robb was having the time of his life. "I know," she said sorrowfully before ripping her eyes away from the horrible establishment. "We should go."

Miya nodded in agreement. Before they reached the door, the woman with red hair spoke from behind her. "You must be the princess. Princess Kenna, isn't it?" She turned around slowly to face the woman. "My, you're just as pretty as he said."

Kenna raised an eyebrow, and noticed that behind the woman the shopkeeper was leering at her with complete and utter contempt. "Thank you," Kenna said unsurely, looking to Miya for help, though for the first time her handmaiden was silent. "If you don't mind me asking, who said this?"

The woman laughed. "That Robb Stark. His friend bought me as a nameday present. But the poor boy couldn't do it, kept on seeing a lady's face."

"Whose?" Kenna asked eagerly.

She laughed again. It was a booming laugh that Kenna didn't think a woman was capable of. "Yours, of course. He said it wouldn't be right. That he couldn't 'dishonour' you like that. A pity, really, I couldn't wait to have his large cock inside of me."

Miya grabbed her upper arm and tried to pull her out of the shop. "Come, princess. We ought to get you back to the castle," she insisted, but Kenna didn't want to leave and ripped her arm from Miya's grasp.

"So, he didn't lie with you?" Kenna checked, hiding a very large smile. She knew that people were probably looking at her, and she was disgracing herself by speaking with a whore. But she _had _to know "Because of me?"

The woman nodded. "Sounds like he's in love with you, my lady. Said he'd wait forever for you to have your blood. He'd go celibate until you did. Good men are rare. Best to keep this one while you can."

"I will try my best to have my blood," Kenna responded, huffing. A huge smile came upon her face then when she was reminded again that Robb hadn't slept with this beautiful woman because of her. "Thank you... miss?" She wasn't sure what the woman preferred to be called.

"Whore, if you like," the woman said. "Or Ros, since you important folk seem to like names."

Kenna smiled kindly at her. "Thank you, Ros. For telling me about what happened in the brothel."

"He's ashamed of it thought, that he couldn't put it in," Ros informed her. Miya sniggered while Kenna had to stifle hers by covered her mouth with her hand. "So be nice to him. And he made me promise not to mention it to Theon Greyjoy."

"Don't worry, we won't," Kenna assured her. They left then, and hopped into the carriage. Once they were on the road back to Winterfell, Kenna saw Miya looking at her with a knowing smile on her lips. "What?"

"You look very happy," she observed.

Kenna gazed out of the carriage the window, the smile still on her face. "That's because I am."

* * *

The bard sang a cheerful, upbeat tune, to which many of the guests danced to. The servants and staff seemed delighted with a break from their duties, and were quite bawdy and merry. Her mother once said that northerners were a barbaric bunch, and their moods ranged from savage to stern. Kenna didn't see any savages, but the northerners were by no means overly stern. If anything, the North was much less strict than the South. Ten fold.

"I'm tired," Bran complained, and leaned his head against Arya's shoulder.

Arya pushed him away as soon as she felt his head on her shoulder. "Stop being a such a baby, Bran. Go to bed if your tired."

"But I don't want to," he said, his eyes closing and his body swaying from fatigue. The older people at the table sniggered at them. "And I'm not a baby. Rickon's the baby."

Young Rickon had been brought to bed an hour earlier, even though he was holding up well. Kenna thought he was the life of the gathering, and Bran looked more tired than Rickon did at that point. "Do you want to go to bed, Bran?" Sansa asked, placing a kind, motherly hand on his shoulder, which he quickly shrugged off.

"No," he insisted, shaking his head in order to wake himself up. "I'm alright, Sansa. I don't want to go to bed."

"Why are you nicer to him?" Arya inquired of Sansa, her features set in a frown. Where Sansa had become a lady through and through, Arya had become more boyish, preferring to ride horses instead of doing needlework. "You're always nicer to Bran and Rickon."

"Because they behave," Sansa shot back as she nibbled delicately on a piece of cake. Unconsciously, Kenna straightened her back and pulled back her shoulders. Just watching Sansa Stark made her want to act like more of a lady, even though she had never done anything unladylike. "Unlike you. I swear, Arya, you're more animal than lady."

Arya's eyes were narrowed in a fierce glare when she lunged behind Bran and towards Sansa. She grabbed a fistful of Sansa's hair and tugged at it, causing the elder Stark girl to cry out in pain. Jon Snow jumped up and grabbed Arya, placing her on the other side of him so that she was further away from Sansa.

"That's enough of that for tonight," he said, smiling affectionately at Arya. The two of them had a strong bond, the strongest bond of all the Stark siblings. Kenna wondered if it was stemmed from the fact that they both looked the most like Starks. Jon spotted something behind Arya and his eyes lit with alarm. "Your lady mother is coming."

As soon as Jon said it, and in the length of a second, the table became quiet and all those sitting at it suddenly seemed well behaved. Lady Stark wasn't fooled for a second. "Why is it that whenever I plan a gathering, my children seem to take this as an opportunity to act the fool?" Sansa, Arya and Bran bowed their heads in shame, not daring to look at their furious mother. Her glare shifted from her children to Jon. Kenna couldn't remember a time when Lady Stark had regarded Jon with anything other than hatred. "Snow, make yourself useful and bring Bran and Arya to bed."

"But I'm not tired!" Arya protested, while Bran slowly drifted off to sleep.

Jon glanced between Arya and her mother, though it only served to make Lady Stark angrier with him. "Hurry on, then, Snow."

Since waiting would only make Lady Stark angry, Jon didn't hesitate to stand and lift a half-asleep Bran into his arms. He offered his hand to Arya, which she took, deciding that it wasn't worth angering her mother. Alys jumped up abruptly, and looked nervously between Jon and Lady Stark before she spoke. "I will go with you," she said to Jon.

Though he merely nodded, Jon was obviously happy that she had offered to go with him. It proved to Lady Stark that he was liked, that she was the only person within the main Stark household who regarded him as a lowly bastard. The victory was a silent one, but a victory nonetheless.

Lady Stark went back to her seat beside Lord Stark then, burning holes through Jon Snow's back as he left with Alys and her children. Kenna hated how Lady Stark treated Jon. She liked to think that if Robb had a bastard when they were married, that she would take it out on him rather than on an innocent child. Though she knew that it was easier said than done.

"Robb became a man today," Theon said loudly, albeit not too loud so that Lord and Lady Stark couldn't hear. "Did you know that, Kenna? It was a quick job, but he did it."

Kenna couldn't help the smile that graced her lips. She patted Robb on the back, shocking both him and Theon. "Well done, Robb. A huge achievement, I'm sure."

Theon lost interest swiftly, and started chatting up a blushing young kitchen maid. They wanted a show, Kenna realised. They wanted her to rage with jealousy, and had she not known the truth she probably would have.

"So does that mean you've gotten over your jealously issues?" Robb asked, leaning close to her ear. She could feel his hot breath on her cheek. It made her heart race and stomach leap with excitement.

"There was never any jealousy to 'get over'," Kenna responded, lightly pushing him away. She rose from her seat, eyes not leaving Robb's as his did not leave hers. "You're going to ask me dance now."

Robb grinned with amusement, but stood anyway. "Oh, am I?"

She nodded, closing the gap between them as she laced her hand in his. "Yes, you are. Because this music is so amazing you just can't resist."

"Well, then, Lady Kenna," he began, lowering his voice and mimicking the accent of a southern gentlemen. It was silly, because Kenna had seen plenty of northern lords dancing. "Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance?"

Kenna smiled politely at him as she bobbed an exaggerated curtsy. She could feel Theon's eyes on them, carefully studying the two of them. "I thought you'd never ask," she said, and set off towards the middle of the Great Hall, where all the others were dancing.

Robb hated dancing, but he couldn't say no to her. He spun her around in circles, and Kenna giggled like a mad child as he twirled her into his arms and dipped her. Their heartbeats had quickened after only a few minutes, and beads of sweat shone on their foreheads as their breathing matched their heartbeats.

"Did you have fun with her?" Kenna questioned him as he folded her into his chest, deciding to play with her façade of apparent ignorance. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Of course I did," Robb insisted, like it was obvious. Kenna laughed. "What? What's so funny?"

She shook her head. "Nothing, nothing. Just that you thought I would be jealous. What sort of woman do you think I am?"

"The most amazing woman in the world," he said smoothly. Kenna swooned like one of those princesses in the songs. Secretly, she had always wanted to be like them. Only not so defenceless. "And I know that you're jealous, even if you're too proud to show it."

Kenna scoffed. "I'm not jealous-"

"I like it when you're jealous," Robb teased, the corner of his lips going upwards in a smirk. Kenna "It's thrilling. You get this look in your eye..."

"A look in my eye?" she repeated whilst raising an eyebrow. It was amusing since Kenna _knew _that he hadn't slept with the whore, though Robb obviously thought that she did and was boosting his pride by thinking she was. "You're making me sound like a vengeful monster who hates every woman you have eye contact with."

"Don't you?"

Kenna roared with laughter. She noticed that her laugh was becoming more like her father's with every passing day. A more feminine version, though. "Gods, Robb. Everything I do does not have you as a hidden motivation."

He pulled her closer to him when the crowd of dancers blocked his parent's view of them. She could feel his stubble on her nose, his breath on her cheek as his eyes locked with hers. Gently, he tucked a lose strand of black hair behind her left ear. "How unfortunate," he said, his hand rested under her chin and pulling her towards him.

Just as their lips were about to meet, Kenna remembered her mother's letters. _Do not do anything you cannot reverse, and do not let him trick you into falling in love with him. This betrothal will be broken soon, my dear, __and you will be back with me. Where you belong. _He wasn't tricking her, but she felt as though she was betraying her mother somehow.

Kenna pulled away, and without giving him a second glance she rushed out of the Hall.

She couldn't betray her mother. She was leagues away and it had been years since they last spoke in person, but the loyalty that bound Kenna to her mother was still strong.

* * *

"Is it done?"

Lysa Arryn swallowed the large lump in her throat. She was thankful for the dim lighting, so that Petyr couldn't see the guilt etched on her face of the tears that had streamed from her eyes. She was a murderer. The gods would damn her to one of the Seven Hells for her sins.

"It is done."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **This chapter was set just before the events of Game of Thrones, if you were confused. I want to thank everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited. You guys inspire me to write faster! I had written this chapter a few days back, but then my computer crashed and I lost it. But I'm now thinking that it was for the best, since this chapter is so much better. Less Gossip Girl-y and the characters aren't OOC. Next chapter will be up within the next two or three weeks!_

_'Til next time!_


	7. The Lions

**The Lions**

She hadn't known Jon Arryn well, despite his presence at court being constant. Years ago, he had been one of the reasons she was sent to the North, so perhaps she should be thanking him. One of the clearest memories Kenna had of the man was her seventh birthday, when he bought her a fine stallion after her other horse died. He had a kind smile, if she remembered correctly, and a fatherly nature about him.

Miya tugged the laces on the princess' corset roughly, complaining that none of her corsets fitted anymore. In the past few weeks, her hips had grown wider, and her breasts larger. She was becoming a woman, and many said that she resembled her mother in both looks and body. Naturally, Kenna took this as a compliment, as her mother was the beautiful woman in Westeros.

Soon she would see her mother again, when the king and his royal party came to Winterfell to visit Lord Stark. She was giddy with excitement, bouncing on the balls of her feet as Miya tried to get her dressed. This caused her handmaiden to scold her more than once, but Kenna was too happy and excited to pay her any mind.

"Do you think they'll be happy to see me?" she asked as Miya tied her gown. Along with the obvious excitement, Kenna was nervous. What if her mother thought her to be too unladylike, or if her father was displeased with how much she looked like her mother, despite having his colouring? She didn't expect a reply from Miya, so the princess ploughed on. "I mean, I know I'm their daughter, but it's been so long... What if they don't like who I've become?"

"I don't see how they couldn't," Miya said with a kind smile. She led her mistress over to her vanity and braided two loose strands of hair before tying them together in an intricate knot. "I've watched you grow, princess. From a scared young girl to a strong young woman. Your parents will be proud of you, I know it."

She pulled some hair over Kenna's shoulder and bent down so that the princess could see her smiling reflection in the mirror. The sight soothed her somewhat, as Miya's warm smiles often did. Her parents weren't to be in Winterfell for quite a few days according to Lord Stark, but Kenna could hardly wait.

"Do you think they'll like Robb?" Kenna wondered, frowning. She knew that her father would be delighted that she wanted to marry Robb, but her mother... The queen hated the Stark's. It would take a lot to convince her to let her daughter marry one of them. "Maybe that's why they've come? For the wedding?"

Suddenly, Miya's expression turned sympathetic. "I do not think that is why your father is riding north, princess. There is talk – among the servants – that his Grace desires to name Lord Stark his Hand."

Once, Kenna believed that her wedding would only be a few weeks after she bled. But it had been two months since she became a woman, and yet there had been no talk of marriage. Her conversations with Robb about the subject were enthusiastic, on both parts, and he said that he had discussed it with his father, though Lord Stark's answers were rather vague.

"But he can name Lord Stark his Hand _and _marry his daughter within his visit here, can he not?" Kenna said, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Her handmaiden opened her mouth to respond before closing it when she realised that nothing she would say could be honest and reassuring to the princess. "Robb and I both want to be married. It's what my father wanted, why he sent me here! He wouldn't send me away from my home to get to know my betrothed and then break that very same betrothal. It's stupid to say the least."

"It doesn't sound like your mother approved of the betrothal," Miya replied gently, careful not to anger or upset Kenna. For some reason, people often walked on egg shells around her. Was her temper really that frightening? "Perhaps the queen finally got her way."

Kenna didn't believe it – no, she didn't _want _to believe it. In every one of her letters, Kenna had sung the Stark's praises. Her mother might not have believed her, but she wouldn't have taken such drastic measures? She wouldn't break her daughter's betrothal without seeing if she was actually miserable.

She shook her head vigorously, but Kenna knew deep down that her handmaiden was right. "No. _No_. I might not be marrying Robb during this visit, but I will. Someday. My mother wouldn't... she _couldn't_..."

There was a loud knock on the door then. After sharing a confused look with the princess – who hadn't been expecting any visitors so early – Miya cautiously opened the door. A man stood in the threshold, panting heavily and drenched from the previous night's rain.

"Can I help you?" Miya asked, eyeing the stranger warily. She stood firmly between Kenna and the man, even when Kenna moved to stand beside her the handmaiden refused to move.

"I was one of Jon Arryn's guards, my lady," the man said, looking over Miya's shoulder and towards Kenna. Her eyes widened slightly at the mention of the former Hand's name. The man stretched his arm and offered Kenna a letter with an unbroken red seal on the front. "He told me to give this to you in his final hours. He said that it was for your eyes only." His eyes flickered pointedly to Kenna's handmaiden, who was still watching the guard cautiously, her gaze never leaving him. "_Only _you."

Just as Miya was about to spit fire at the man, Kenna held her hand up and silenced her handmaiden. "Did he say what was in the letter?" she questioned, and the guard shook his head. "Did you read any of it?"

Visibly offended, the man glared at Kenna with such ferocity that it made her flinch. "Of course not, my lady," he said icily. "I would _never _disobey my liege lord's wishes. Especially while he is in the grave."

"I apologise, Ser," she replied, conjuring a polite, saccharine smile. "Few are as honourable as you. I just had to be sure."

Her words quelled his anger and sated his ego almost immediately. "It is no problem, princess," he assured her, trying his best to guard his facial expression. It was amazing how quick his face went from angry to delighted with just a few well-picked words."I must leave before the castle awakens, as to not draw suspicion. Remember, my lady – no eyes but yours." Again, he glanced towards Miya, causing the handmaiden to narrow her blazing eyes at him.

Kenna barely got the chance to nod and thank him as Miya had already shut the door in his face. "_Prick_," she huffed, storming away from the door. "What does he think I am? Some sort of spy?"

"He's only being careful," Kenna defended. She could understand his cautiousness, and she expected that he hadn't mentioned his name for that exact reason. The content of the letter in Kenna's hand obviously held some dangerous information. Information that could get someone killed. Biting her lower lip, Kenna glanced towards her expectant handmaiden, attempting to phrase what she was going to say as kindly as she could in her head. "Miya, you do know that I would trust you with anything?"

Her handmaiden smiled. "I do. Now, what's in that letter that he was worrying about?"

"I cannot tell you, Miya." She watched sadly as a deep frown marred her handmaiden's pretty features. The last thing that she wanted was to upset Miya – she had been one of her first friends in the North – but she had to keep her safe. "It would be too dangerous for you. Jon Arryn was never a dramatic man. If he thought it to be too dangerous for anyone to see this letter, then it must be true. It's not that I don't trust you – I trust you with my _life_, Miya – I just don't want to put you in any danger."

Though disappointed that she would not get to know what was in the letter, Miya nodded in understanding. "I suppose you're right. I'll leave you to it then."

She smiled thankfully at her handmaiden before Miya left, a pile of clothes in her arms. Inhaling deeply, Kenna sat on the wooden chair beside the burning fireplace. Her slender fingers were shaking as she broke the letter's seal, imprinted with the Arryn sigil. What was the worst thing that could be in the letter? It was strange, that the man – who she barely knew – wrote a letter, which was very possibly his last letter, containing apparently important information before his death to her; a fifteen year old princess leagues away from King's Landing.

Slowly, she unfolded the parchment. Jon Arryn's script was neat and elegant, though his letter was surprisingly short.

_Princess Kenna,_

_In these past few months I have discovered something that could throw both myself and you into grave danger. I cannot say much, but I will offer you one piece of advise. Never trust the gold, for they will try to steal what is yours by right. Stay in your home, and do not stray far. Danger awaits you in the City of Rats._

_Burn this._

_Jon Arryn, Warden of the East and Lord of the Eyrie_

Whatever she had expected, whatever revelation she expected to receive, did not come. Kenna was left confused and baffled as she reread the vague letter over and over again, hoping to find a new clue as she did. _Gold – _who was the gold? And what were they stealing from her? As far as she knew, nothing truly belonged to her, so nothing could be stolen.

The guard had said that Jon Arryn was inches from death when he wrote the letter. Perhaps it was the ramblings of a mad man, but he didn't sound like a mad man in the letter. He was probably being vague and using confusing terms in case someone was to intercept the letter. Signing his name at the bottom and hers at the top was suspicious enough.

After rereading the letter for the twentieth time and realising that there was no use reading it again, Kenna tossed the letter into the hearth and watched as the fire took it as it's own, engulfing it in flames. She leaned back in her chair, lost in her thoughts.

_The gold. Who is the gold, and what are they stealing from me?_

* * *

She decided to push her worries to the back of her mind that day. Worry only served to make one age faster, and repeating the wording of Jon Arryn's letter would do her no good. She distracted herself by focusing on her sewing, and the stag she was supposed to be sewing onto the yellow fabric.

Years of practising needlework – and having to suffer Septa Mordane's disappointed tuts – had turned Kenna into quite the seamstress. She wasn't as good as Sansa, and perhaps she was on the same level as Jeyne Poole, but Kenna could actually create _something _now. Sewing stags had become her forte, as Septa Mordane often told the northern girls to sew the Stark sigil on their fabric, and told Kenna to sew the Baratheon sigil on hers.

The septa inspected her work once she was finished. The only person who had finished earlier than her was Sansa, whose work was perfect in all aspects. Sansa Stark simply had a talent for embroidery, and music, _and _she could effortlessly recite the words of every house in Westeros. Kenna made a note to someday challenge the younger girl to a competition related to reading books.

"Good," the septa commented with little emotion. It was rare to receive much of a compliment from Septa Mordane, as she seemed to prefer to criticise her students than to praise them. "Though next time I will have to tell you to sew something other than a stag. We will see how well your work is then."

Somehow, that sounded like a threat.

A loud, high-pitched cry came from beside Kenna, and from the lips of Alys. She was doubling over in pain and had dropped her half-finished direwolf onto the ground. While wondering if Alys was pretending – _again_ – Kenna placed a hand upon her back and rubbed it soothingly.

Septa Mordane sighed. "What is wrong this time, Alys?"

"I have a pain, septa," Alys complained, hiding a large smile with difficult. "You see, it's _that time of the month_. May I be excused?"

As the girls erupted with giggles around Alys, the septa pursed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. "I am afraid that it is something you will just have to deal with, as many women have done before you and will continue to do for many centuries more."

Alys nodded her head solemnly. "Alright, septa."

Everything went back to normal, with the girls sewing their direwolves and Kenna and Sansa helping those who had yet to finish. Every now and then, Alys would open her mouth and a loud cry of pain would come out. Kenna knew then that Alys was simply being annoying. As she watched the septa's features twitch in annoyance, Kenna wondered how long it would take for her to snap.

"Gods be good, leave, if you must!" Apparently, not very long. From the corner of her eye, Kenna saw her friend trying to hide a victorious grin. "Just stop that _awful _sound! Were you raised with wolves, Alys?"

"Technically yes..."

"Leave!" the septa snapped, arms moving about furiously. "If you do not desire to take this seriously then, by all means, the door is there." Her eyes flickered towards the small door on the other side of the room.

"Can Kenna come with me?" The princess couldn't help the hopeful look that crossed her features. Judging by the septa's sour expression, the answer was no. Alys leaned back in her chair. "Alright then, I suppose I'll stay..."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Septa Mordane exclaimed, covering her face with her hands. All but Sansa were giggling madly. Despite the smile that forced it's way open her face, Kenna felt sorry for the septa. Though she really did want to leave. "Take the princess, if she wants to leave."

Alys didn't give Kenna time to answer. Before she knew it, Kenna was being dragged out of the room with Alys' hand firmly gripping her arm. The halls were bustling with people, and many stopped to give the two girls odd looks. Suddenly, Alys stopped outside of a room and pressed a lone finger to her lips, indicating to be quiet.

As they tip-toed into the room that stored all the ale, Kenna glanced around, wide-eyed, with her mouth slightly agape. "Alys, do you intend for us to get drunk?" After shushing her furiously – to which Kenna rolled her eyes – Alys scoffed and pointed to the wall. This only added to Kenna's confusion. "Why in Seven Hells are you pointing to a wall?"

"Are you some sort of simpleton?" Alys' tone was sharp and irritated, but kept to a low key. She nodded her head pointedly towards a crack in the wall, that allowed a person to see right through to the room beside it.

"Why is your mother so dead set on getting us pretty for the king?" Jon Snow's voice was the first she heard, and suddenly her interest was piked. She moved towards the crack in the wall, bending down so that she could see into the opposite room. The three boys were in there – Jon, Robb and Theon – along with the barber, Tommy. A pleasant surprise was that they were all without shirts. Kenna shared a look with Alys, who only smirked in response.

Was it rude to peek? If one of them were to peek in on her while she was wearing little clothes, Kenna knew that she wouldn't be happy. But they didn't know that she was there, and what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"It's for the queen, I bet," Theon Greyjoy spoke next, leaning against the wall nonchalantly as Tommy shaved Robb's beard. "I hear she's as sleek as a minx."

Kenna pouted. "I like him with a beard," she said, earning a painful nudge from the violent girl beside her. She made sure to keep quiet after that.

"I hear the prince is a right royal prick," Robb told them as he stood, cleanly shaven. Kenna found that her eyes refused to move from his toned torso. Gods, she knew that he was muscular and firm beneath all those clothes that northerners were forced to wear, but the sight of him was enough to cause a new sensation of tingling between her legs. She almost didn't notice that he had called her brother 'a right royal prick,' which was completely accurate.

Theon merely looked bitter as he spat, "Think of all those southern girls he gets to stab with his _right royal prick_. Not that you would, Robb. There's only one girl you want to stab with your prick."

Obviously ignoring Theon's comment, Robb slapped Jon's back when it was time for him to be shaven. "Go on, Tommy, shave him good. He's never met a girl he likes better than his own hair."

If she stared at them any longer – especially Robb – she would burst.

"Come on." When she turned to Alys, she noticed her friend's crestfallen expression, but thought little of it as she grabbed her arm and pulled her of the room.

* * *

Servants rushed about the halls of Winterfell, preparing for the arrival of the king and his party. According to Bran, who had climbed the walls of Winterfell, the royal party was less than an hour away. Kenna was bursting with excitement. She would see little Tommen and Myrcella at the age they were now. She would speak with her father and mother for the first time in what seemed like forever. During their time apart, her parents had become little more than idolised fragments in her mind. _How different are they, truly? Have they changed over the years, as I have? _Kenna was both nervous and excited to find out.

A grey wolf sprinted across the courtyard, his bark echoing through the cold, late summer air. In only a few days, the direwolves had grown frighteningly large, though Jon had told her that they were still only a fraction of the size they would grow to be.

Robb's wolf ran towards her. Before she could stop him, Grey Wind's muddy paws were on her dress, marring the blue material with brown muck. Kenna groaned in frustration. "Grey Wind! You silly beast," she scolded. In response, the wolf glanced up at her with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes. All irritation she felt melted then as she ran her fingers in the fur at the top of his head. "Gods, you really make it hard to be mad at you."

_Just like your master, _Kenna was about to add before she saw a grinning Robb approach them, his hand gripping the handle of his new sword. "Come here, Grey," Robb commanded, and the direwolf obeyed with little thought. Grey Wind sat obediently at Robb's feet as the Stark heir hunkered to meet his wolf's height. "Did you ruin Kenna's dress?" The direwolf tilted his head to the side in confusion while Robb scratched the back of his ear affectionately. "You should know that she's very touchy about her dresses."

"Robb!" Kenna smacked the back of his head, though she smiled all the same. Still chuckling, Robb rose to his full height and gave her a smug grin. "Do you find this funny?" She gestured to her ruined dress, attempting to at least look serious. "I'll have to change now!"

"I think you look lovely," Robb replied with mock sincerity. "No need to change at all, really."

"Oh, is that so?" she asked him, receiving a nod in response as he looked her up and down, still adorning that smug grin of his. Kenna closed the gap between them, a smile slowly finding its way upon her face. "Perhaps you'll like to look the same, then?"

"What are you-" Before he could register what was happening, Kenna had grabbed the handle of his sword and pulled it from its sheath. She was running for the stables, fully intending to make him as dirty as she was. "Kenna!" he called after her, but the only reply he received was a girlish giggle. "Kenna! Give me back my sword!"

She spun around briefly, and shouted – "come and get it!" – before turning back around and sprinting towards the stables. Seeing so other option, and secretly enjoying the thrill of it all, Robb ran after her, though his speed was diminished because of his furs. Her giggles made it easy to find her; in the room where they kept the hay and water for the horses. He cornered her, and backed her into a wall.

"Give me back my sword," he said calmly, a smile tugging at his lips. Kenna had made no effort to hide hers, and so her face was split with a massive grin. "_Kenna_, give me back my sword."

"But you laughed at me." Suddenly, her smile had turned into a petulant frown, which her lips had the perfect shape for. Although she wasn't giggling anymore, her eyes were shining with laughter. "I think that you deserve some punishment for that, Robb Stark."

He stepped closer to her. Kenna felt goosebumps form on her arm from the heat of his warm breath on her cheek. "Oh? And what will my punishment be?" he challenged, his lips almost touching hers.

She dropped the sword on the ground beside her and slid her hands up his arms until they were set upon his shoulders. The space between them was completely closed by then, and Kenna's body was pressed against his. She chose not to answer his question, and to simply _show _him her answer as she pushed him onto a stack of hay. When he felt himself falling, Robb instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her down with him, positioning himself on the top with his knees on either side of her.

"You sneaky-"

Before she could finish her sentence, Robb had captured her lips with his own. Her tongue moved as though it had a mind of its own, though Kenna knew that her mind would never protest against _this_. As Robb's lips moved to her neck, Kenna moaned happily and buckled her hips around his hips, desiring for him to be even closer to her. They were both covered in hay and mud, but somehow the state they were in only served to make the princess' womanhood throb with excitement.

If her mother saw her now... Kenna froze as she thought of her mother. The queen had expressly forbade her from doing anything with Robb. Yet here she was; rutting in hay with him. But she found that her body didn't care much for the rules her mother had set out for her, and her mind quickly corresponded with the urges of her body.

Robb pulled away from her, confusion etched upon his features. Pushing aside the guilt from disobeying her mother, Kenna smiled at him and placed her hands on either side of his face before bringing his lips to meet hers in a chaste kiss that quickly escalated into something more heated. She felt his hardened cock between her legs, causing her cheeks to warm and redden.

"Robb Stark, where are – oh gods!" The shrill voice of Lady Stark was what caused Robb to jump off her. Blushing harder than ever before, Kenna rose from the pile of hay that sought to engulf her and brushed herself off, careful not to meet Lady Stark's accusing stare. "What were you both doing?"

"Nothing," the two of them chorused in unison. While Robb had the stomach to look at his mother, Kenna fixed her gaze upon her hands. What a sight they must have been – like a pair of love-struck smallfolk kissing in the stables.

"It didn't look like _nothing _to me," Lady Stark commented before taking in the state of Kenna's dress. "Your father is nearly here, Kenna. How long do you think it will take you to change?"

"Not long at all," Kenna replied, though she knew that it would take longer than she was letting on. She fixed her hair with her fingers and picked out the hay in her hair. "I can be quick."

Lady Stark shot her a look and pointedly urged her out of the stables. "Then go! Gods, your parents will think we have raised you to be a barbarian!" After nodding towards Lady Starks, Kenna rushed out of the stables, leaving Robb alone with his mother. "How far have you both gone?"

Like most young men, Robb had no desire of speaking of such a thing with his mother. He pulled a face. "_Mother_..."

"Robb, how far have you gone with the princess?" Her tone left little room for arguments. Robb shifted awkwardly from where he stood, wanting nothing more than to be away from his mother. "Have you taken her maidenhead?"

"Gods, no!" he said, shocked that his mother thought that he would. Even then, wasn't she supposed to be his bride? "This was the first time we even..." His mother smiled slightly. "Anyway, it's not as though she'd be ruined. She's to be my wife, isn't she?"

His mother was skilled in the art of hiding her true feelings, but one thing she had never mastered was how to hide the truth in her eyes. They betrayed sadness, and sympathy, which made Robb very confused. She placed a hand on Robb's shoulder and gave it a tight squeeze. "You should dust yourself off, Robb. Before the king comes." And with her skirts sweeping through the stables' floor, his mother was gone.

* * *

Poor Miya received the fright of her life when Kenna grabbed her by the arm and dragged her up to the princess' rooms. She didn't think that any woman in Westeros could have readied themselves faster. Their technique was skilled and proficient, with Kenna unlacing her dress and corset and Miya restyling her hair. She didn't look as well as she had before, but she still looked well enough.

Her place was beside Robb in the front line, and Lord Stark was beside him. Her palms were sweating from nerves as she anxiously stared at the gates. At any moment, her family would come from those gates, along with two hundred men and women from King's Landing. Sensing that she was nervous, Robb reached out and entwined his fingers with hers. When she turned her head to look at him, he gave her a reassuring smile. Kenna tried to return one of her own.

"You'll be fine," he whispered into her ear. His breath triggered the memory of what had happened between them in the stables, and then a blush warmed her cheeks once again. "What's the worst that can happen?"

She made sure not to look at him, because his eyes sometimes gave off the feeling that he could read her thoughts. It was silly, sure, but expressions could be very easy to read from time to time, when one didn't know how to hide it.

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, squeezing his hand as a means of thanking him.

Kenna's breath caught in her throat when the gates rose. _This is it. _The colours of red, black and crimson poured in through the gates. Some rode atop horses, while some chose to stay in a wheelhouse. Kenna searched for her father through the large crowd, though when she spotted him she found that he was not at all as she remembered.

The memories of her father being a strong, muscled man were hazy and difficult to recall. Even when she had left, the king was by no means a slim man. But this man... her father... he was a stranger. Had it not been for the legendary Kingsguard that surrounded him, Kenna would have had even more difficulty with finding her father.

Or perhaps she would only have realised it was him when he walked over to the front line and greeted Lord Stark. Her father's first comment was about the Warden in the North's weight, which was responded to by Lord Stark indicating her father's enormous stomach. At first, Kenna expected the king to scold Lord Stark, but soon loud laughter erupted from him. His laugh was just as she remembered, and Kenna was glad that part of him had stayed the same.

Her mother gracefully stepped out of the wheelhouse. In truth, the queen was just as beautiful as Kenna remembered. Her hair was the same gold that glimmered when it caught the light, her eyes were the same striking colour of emeralds, and her skin was pale, like porcelain. She walked elegantly, as though she was walking on air, as she regarded her surroundings with distaste, crinkling her nose at the mere sight of the North.

Myrcella and Tommen followed their mother out of the wheelhouse. Despite knowing that her siblings had inherited all their looks from their mother's side, Kenna was startled at how alike they truly looked. Myrcella resembled a younger Cersei Lannister from head to toe, and Tommen looked like a younger version of Kenna's uncle – the Kingslayer.

Her attention was brought back to her father when he moved over to the start of the line, having spoken with Lady Stark and the Stark children – save for Robb. He looked her up and down before a large smile split his face in half. "Seven hells, girl. You've grown."

Kenna smiled back at him and curtsied. "Seven years does that, Your Grace."

"There's no need for that. You're my daughter." He motioned for her to rise from her curtsy, and Kenna obeyed. With narrowed eyes the king studied her. "The North has done you well, as I knew it would."

Her lips parted as she tried to think of a response, but by the time he had went on to speak with Robb she still hadn't thought of one. "So you must be Robb," the king said gruffly.

"Yes, Your Grace," replied Robb politely as he inclined his head.

The king grunted before he moved to speak with Lord Stark again. "Take me to your crypts. I want to pay my respects," he commanded, paying little mind to his wife who had sauntered over to them. The expression on Kenna's mother's face was not pleasant by any means. She looked like she had been dragged south – kicking and screaming – although Kenna knew her mother well enough to know that the queen would never act so disgracefully.

"We've been riding for a month, my love," her mother said, and Kenna's eyebrows rose without approval. The fake display of affection on her mother's part – which was once so familiar and normal to Kenna – seemed like an odd mummer's show. Few were so concerned about appearances in the North, and the princess supposed that she had gotten used to their simple ways. "Surely the dead can wait."

Her father refused to even glance in her mother direction. Obviously, the king had no time for such falsities. "_Ned_," he repeated, and without another word Lord Stark brought him down to the crypts.

_Apparently my father's dead betrothed is more important than his living daughter, _she thought bitterly as she stared after her father, an empty pit forming in her stomach. Had she expected too much from him? To have a conversation with one's long absent daughter was what most fathers would do, if Kenna was not mistaken. Perhaps the king had important business to attend to with Lord Stark. She almost scoffed aloud at that thought. Her father had never concerned himself with matters of state; why would he begin now? Unless he was going to name Lord Stark his Hand, but that was another matter entirely.

Lady Stark had ordered her children to escort the guests to their rooms, leaving Kenna alone with her mother and younger siblings. Before he left, Robb gave Kenna's hand – which had stayed laced with his the entire time, much to her surprise – a final squeeze; something that did not go unnoticed by Kenna's mother.

"Sweetling," her mother greeting, leaning in to give her a peck on the cheek. She gripped her daughter's hands in her own, a genuine smile brightening her features. Up close, Kenna could see that her mother had aged quite a bit since she had left, though she still retained the beauty that inspired songs. "They told me that you had grown into quite a beauty. I did not realise how true that was. Walk with me, my dear. We have much to talk about."

Once her mother had let go of her hands, Tommen and Myrcella both jumped at her at once. Kenna laughed, tears of joy gathering in her eyes. She had yearned to see her family for years – to have what the Stark's had – and now that she finally had it words could not describe how happy she felt. As she wrapped her arms around her siblings and knelt down to meet their height, Kenna felt her mother's disapproving glare burning into the back of her head.

"I have missed you both," she said, pulling away from the embrace to look at her siblings. She had been absent from so much of their lives, and she wanted to make up for that while they were in Winterfell. "My, you've grown. You'll be as beautiful as Mother someday, Myrcella." She smiled at her youngest brother and ruffled his hair, earning her a boyish laugh. "And you'll be as strong as Father."

"I doubt that..." drawled a voice familiar to Kenna's ears, though it was deeper than she remembered. She glanced upwards to find her eldest brother, Joffrey, looking down on her with an arrogant smirk. Rising from her previously hunkered position, Kenna made sure to show him that she wasn't afraid of him. She was no longer the little girl that he could torment, although a lump formed in her throat when she saw him, and her stomach twisted with something akin to fear. "Did you miss me too, sister?"

Ignoring the lump in her throat and the uneasy feeling in her stomach, Kenna forced a smile upon her lips. "Of course, brother. I yearned for the day that I could see you again, and I am delighted now that day has come."

Her mother watched her with keen eyes, as if she didn't know her own daughter. "Your accent has changed. You speak like a northerner now." Slowly, solemn realisation crossed her mother's face, as though she was discovering some sort of horror. It did not last for long, and soon enough her mother had set her features into a frown. "That will not do. These northerners might have got their claws into you, but you are still a southerner at heart, and you will act like one if it's the last thing I do." The frown was then replaced with a pitiful look. Honestly, Kenna didn't know what to make of it all, nor did she know how to react. "Poor girl, forced to live with these savages. If everything goes as planned than you will not have to spend another day among these people."

"What?" Kenna asked in surprise as her mother led her away from the courtyard, their arms hooked together.

"Never you mind, sweetling," her mother said with a smile. "We have more important things to discuss."

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Things will get more exciting from here on! I'd liked to thank all you guys who took the take to review, favourite and follow. I'm blown away by you lot each time! I hope you like where I'm taking this story, and if you have any suggestions, opinions or criticism that you'd like to share then do review! _

_Until next time!_


	8. Nowhere to Hide

**Nowhere to Hide**

Kenna ran the brush through her sister's golden hair. When she was younger, Kenna wanted nothing more than to have blonde hair. She had hated being different, with her dark brown hair and stormy blue eyes. Joffrey used to tease her and say that she was one of their father's many bastards. That was one of the very few times their mother had scolded Joffrey.

"I missed having you in King's Landing," Myrcella admitted, staring down at her hands. Kenna watched her sister through her reflection in the mirror, her stomach sinking at the sad look in Myrcella's eyes. "I didn't remember you much, but I always thought that having a big sister to protect me would be nice."

The pit in her stomach only grew larger. She forced a smile onto her lips. "You had Joffrey."

Though she had hoped to raise her sister's spirits, Kenna's statement only served to make Myrcella's face fall further. "I suppose," she replied. Kenna received the impression that she wanted to say more, and something was stopping her. "It was... it just wasn't the same."

Guilt overwhelmed her. It hadn't been her idea to go north, so it wasn't as if she willingly abandoned them. She did as she was told, as girls often did. But while she was making friends and growing to call Winterfell her home, Myrcella and Tommen had been subjected to Joffrey. She hoped that her brother wasn't the same as she remembered.

"Myrcella, was Joffrey... cruel to you?" Kenna asked carefully. Biting her lower lip, Myrcella shook her head, though her expression screamed the opposite. "You know that you can tell me. I won't tell Joffrey or Mother. I only care about you."

"He is worse to Tommen." Myrcella wrung her hands and kept her eyes on the floor, trying to make sure that her elder sister couldn't see the tears welling in her eyes. But Kenna did, and her sadness and fury was only magnified. "He mocks him and calls him weak. Sometimes, he strikes and pushes him when Mother and Father aren't looking. Joffrey says that it will make him stronger, but I don't think it will. At night, Tommen comes into my room and cries. How could this make him stronger, Kenna? Why is Joffrey doing this?"

Her sister's soft sobs echoed through Kenna's room. Instinctively, Kenna wrapped her arms around Myrcella and held her close. She remembered her own suffering from Joffrey's abuse, and how her mother never protected her from him. He wasn't too bad when they were younger. In fact, Kenna had enjoyed playing with her younger brother. But then things changed – _he _changed, and the only thing that could make him happy was tormenting his sister. In her absence, it seemed he had turned to hurting Tommen for satisfaction.

"Please don't leave us again, Kenna." Myrcella pulled away from the embrace, a layer of tears glistening in her eyes and her cheeks wet from crying. Her eyes were pleading; _desperate_. She looked so small and terrified. Kenna's heart melted. "I need you... _Tommen_ needs you. Come back with us to King's Landing."

She exhaled a sigh. "I can't, 'Cella."

"But you _can_!" Myrcella exclaimed, gripping Kenna's hand tightly. "Everyone misses you. Mother, Tommen, Father, Uncle Tyrion... All that you have to do is ask them!" Watching her sister uncertainly, Kenna briefly wondered if the queen had set her up to this. "_Please_, Kenna. At least _try_. We are your family! You should be with us."

As she tried to think of a response, there was a knock on her door. Kenna furrowed her eyebrows, though stood to answer it. Miya never knocked on her door, neither did Robb. When she opened the door, she saw her mother on the other side, dressed glamorously for the feast that night.

She smiled warmly at her eldest daughter, and laced her hands in hers. "You look beautiful tonight, sweetling. Though I do believe that you would look better with a southern hairstyle." She scrutinised Kenna's appearance closely, her eyes not leaving any part of Kenna unseen. The queen turned to her younger daughter then, still smiling with a warmth Kenna had not seen before. Had her mother truly changed so much? "Myrcella, darling, would you mind finding your brother? I would like to speak with Kenna alone."

Her emerald green eyes were still puffy and brimmed with red, but the queen did not notice. Myrcella nodded, hopped off the chair and rushed out of the room. _Crying is for the weak, _Kenna heard her mother say in her head, _and a princess is not weak. _No doubt Myrcella had that exact same lesson drilled into her head.

While inspecting Kenna's room with a look of distaste marring her beautiful features, the queen picked up one of Kenna's penchants with a direwolf engraved in the front. "What is this?" she asked, as calmly as she could.

"Robb had it made for me," Kenna told her mother with a fond smile. "On my last nameday. Isn't it lovely?" The queen did not reply as she placed the necklace back on the table, a frown still etched upon her face. After coughing in an attempt to break the heavy silence, and seeing that her mother did not make any effort to start conversation, Kenna decided that it was the right time – well, as right as it could be – to speak about her betrothal. "He's very kind, and he does care about me. I know that I will be happy with him. We don't even need that grand of a wedding! I just want to be his wife, Mother. Please speak to Father about it."

Her mother's intense gaze did not leave her. Not even when she sat down at the vanity and picked up the penchant again, tracing the engraved direwolf with her finger. "This betrothal was a mistake on the behalf of Jon Arryn and your father. The Stark loyalty has already been ensured by Lord Stark's friendship with your father; there was no need to send you north and certainly no need to marry you off to that boy." Her mother's eyes became softer as she reached for her daughter's hand and led Kenna towards her. "You were too young to be sent away from your mother, and you are too young to be wed now. You belonged with me. You _belong _with me."

"There are women younger than me who are wed-"

"But they were more mature, my dear." Kenna flinched at the barely concealed harshness in her mother's voice, even the affectionate pet name at the end did not make it less abrasive. "Your time in this cold, frigid wasteland has changed you, and not for the better. You wear your hair like a northerner, you speak like a northerner, you have become friends with northerners, you _act _like a northerner. Well, I am sorry to have to tell you this, sweetling, but you are _not _a northerner. You are a southerner, and some time in the south will help you remember that."

Kenna ripped her hand from her mother's grip, searching for words but finding none. She shook her head vigorously. "No," she said firmly. "_No_. You cannot bring me back. Father wants me to marry Robb – _I _want to marry Robb!"

"Betrothals can be broken," her mother reminded her, standing to meet Kenna's full height.

"But we've been betrothed since we were _nine_!" Kenna exclaimed. The thought of not marrying Robb had occasionally passed through her mind, though she had not entertained it for longer than a split second. "You can't do this. Father will never agree to it."

"He already has," she replied, a smile finding its way upon her lips. For some reason, the queen thought that she was _helping _Kenna by breaking the betrothal. Did her hatred for the Starks really blind her to reason? The queen observed her with narrowed, concentrated eyes before letting out a loud, irritated huff. "Does your affection for this Stark boy truly eclipse your desire to be with your family? With your siblings?"

"I lovehim." Her voice was steady and stubborn as she straightened her back to appear taller, despite already being the same height as her mother. She would not flinch, she decided as the queen's cold eyes bore through her.

"Love is irrelevant for people like us," her mother said monotonously, though their was a hidden flash of pain that slipped through her well guarded façade. "We marry who we are told to marry. Love does not _matter_."

"It matters to me."

For a few moments, Kenna thought that her mother was going to yell at her. Though after studying her daughter's expression, Cersei began to laugh manically, her loud roar of laughter carrying through the cold air. "You naive little girl." At that, Kenna could not help but flinch. Once again she felt like a child, desperate for her mother's approval. "Men will only build you up to break you down. It is family that truly loves you, and it is out of that love that I seek to bring you home. To help you grow." Both her tone and face became soften as she rubbed Kenna's arm lovingly, a warm smile embracing her red lips. "Myrcella and Tommen miss their big sister, and I am sure that Joff does too, though he will not admit it. You belong with your family. You belong with me."

_I belong where I am told to belong, as has always been the case. _Her enmity against her mother was slowly fading. She had always been weak where her mother was concerned. "I will do as my lord father bids me. If he wants me to go to King's Landing, I will go with you to King's Landing."

That made her mother's smile widen. She wrapped her arms around Kenna, holding her tightly to her chest, as though she was afraid to let her go again. "My dutiful daughter. I am not sure if such a trait is a gift or a curse."

Honestly, Kenna wasn't sure either.

* * *

Lady Stark had placed her in between Joffrey and Myrcella. While she was happy to speak with her little sister more, Joffrey proved himself to be exactly what she had both feared and expected. He ranted and raved about the coldness of the North and the impoliteness of the people. His place was among the snakes in King's Landing, not among the benevolent wolves in the North.

Myrcella had left her alone with Joffrey to dance with Bran, and gods was their conversation _riveting_.

"I feel such pity for you, sister." The sound of Joffrey's voice drained her. She usually enjoyed speaking with people, but silence was a blessing when she was speaking with Joffrey. "Having to live among these northerners; being betrothed to one. I suppose that you must be delighted that your betrothal has been called off."

She snapped her gaze over to meet Joffrey's challenging one. How much had Mother told him? "It has not been called off yet, Joffrey. I will only believe it when Father tells me."

His harsh laugh was sharp against her ears, and caused her wince. "It is all but set in stone, _sweetling_."

"Do not patronise me," Kenna warned, glaring at her younger brother. That glint appeared in his eyes. She had been so terrified of that glint when she was younger, and a part of her still was. The child inside her cowered, as it had when she was speaking with her mother. What was it about her family that made her feel so... _small_?

"I will patronise you if I desire to," he threatened, and roughly gripped her small wrist. At her quiet whimper of pain, his grip became tighter and a smirk appeared on his face as he leaned into her ear, his lips brushing against her skin. "I will be king someday, _sweetling_, and you will be some man's mare, destined only to fuck him and bare his children. Perhaps he will teach you to respect your betters."

"You're hurting me," Kenna whispered, attempting to pull her wrist from his grasp. But Joffrey was stronger than her, despite being of average size for a boy his age. As she whimpered softly from the pain, Joffrey's eyes lit up with excitement. _He is a monster. _In her youth she had used that term to describe him often, but it had never rung as true as it did now. She gritted her teeth together to stop herself from whimpering, as it only seemed to bring him joy. "Joffrey, _let go_."

"My lady?" Kenna nearly sighed with relief when she heard Robb's voice. As soon as he heard it, Joffrey let go of her, placing his hands on his lap immediately, though his glaring eyes never left her. Robb glanced between them, before sending Kenna a worried look. Braving a small smile, Kenna shook her head, signalling for him not to do anything about it. Robb offered her his hand then, a grin gracing his handsome face. "Would you do me the honour of sharing this dance?"

She briefly looked towards her brother, smirking at his sulky pout and folded arms, before placing her hand in Robb's. "Nothing would make me happier, _my lord_."

The words felt strange on her tongue. It had been years since she last called Robb 'my lord,' and years since he had last called her 'my lady.' As he led her over to the middle of the room where the others were dancing, Kenna saw that he was smiling too.

Kenna made sure to exaggerate her laughter and smiles, so that her father and mother could see how much she cared for Robb. Perhaps he would allow her to stay and marry him then, when he saw that she was experiencing what he had wanted with Lyanna Stark. She was playing with his feelings as she would a fiddle, but Kenna was prepared to do anything.

Robb seemed to catch on to what she was doing quickly, as he too was laughing louder than he usually would. As he twirled her around, the world spun around her, though she could see her father with his hands upon a kitchen wench's arse. Her laughter caught in her throat. He wasn't looking. He didn't _care_. She was a fool for thinking that he would look, that he would _care_.

Realising the reason for her distress, Robb grabbed her bruised wrist and pulled her around to face him. Softly, as though his touch was a ghost, he caressed her cheek with his thumb before wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her into the air. Kenna giggled as he spun her around, though her eyes never left his.

Was this love? Her mother spoke so cruelly of the concept, and looked down on Kenna for even mentioning it. While she was not completely naive to the world and the ways of men (Theon Greyjoy had made sure of that), she liked to believe that love did exist in the world, for what would life be like without it?

Maybe she was a foolish girl, in love with the idea of love, but as Robb Stark spun her around without a care in the world, Kenna felt very much like one of those ladies from the songs that Sansa often goaded her into singing.

As her feet touched the ground and the world around her stopped spinning, Kenna noticed her mother's livid glare set upon her and Robb. Their spectacle had certainly received the attention they wanted from her mother, while her father's attention remained solely on the kitchen wench he was sure to be bedding that night. Kenna wasn't sure if she was proud of her display or ashamed, because in that moment she felt a mixture of both.

Swallowing the large lump that had formed in her throat, she looked away from her mother and stormed out, ignoring Robb as he tried to grab her wrist and pull her back. When had it all become so complicated? A few years ago, their future had been carefully planned out for them – whether they liked it or not was irrelevant. Kenna had tried to make the best of her situation. She was in a foreign kingdom with no friends and destined to marry a boy who greatly disliked her, but she had managed to somehow make the best of it.

So when her mother told her that there was a chance that she would not be marrying Robb – that the last seven years were a waste – it felt like a sharp slap in the face.

Anger flushed through her and in a fit of rage she kicked the wall with all her might. The pain – while inevitable when one kicked a wall – caused her to grunt and hold her injured foot in her hands as she hopped about, whispering curses under her breath.

"Oh dear, looks like my sweet, innocent niece has developed quite the potty mouth." Kenna froze and slowly dropped her foot. She would recognise that voice anywhere. "I suppose I have the North to thank for this change?"

"Tyrion!" she exclaimed, falling onto her knees and engulfing him in a tight, binding hug that was sure to leave him heaving for air.

"You've grown tall, little princess." He ruffled her hair, and Kenna couldn't help but smile at his use of her old nickname. If it had been anyone else, she would have taken offence. But not with Tyrion, because she knew that he would never want to hurt her in any way. "You will be _dwarfing _me soon. See what I did there?"

Kenna laughed, and sent him a fake glare as she fixed her hair back into place. "It seems like the quality of your jests has deteriorated, uncle. Such a shame – you were once quite a funny man."

With a dramatic gasp, her uncle placed a hand to his heart, pretending to be deeply wounded by her comment. Kenna tried to stifle a giggle, but failed miserably. "I am offended, my dear. I thought that the quality of my jests have only increased with age and wisdom." He brushed a loose strand of dark brown hair from her face and lifted her chin to meet his mismatched eyes. "Do you remember what I told you all those years ago? About minds and whetstones?"

The word 'whetstones' triggered a memory long since forgotten, or numerous memories for that matter. Her eyes narrowed his concentration as she tried to recall one of her uncle's favourite sayings. He was challenging her; she could see it in his eyes. Perhaps he was testing her to see if she had changed, or if she had abandoned books and learning. Whatever his reasons were, Kenna was determined not to fail.

"That the mind is a weapon," she recited from memory. "That a mind needs books as much as a sword needs a whetstone."

Impressed, Tyrion nodded his approval. Kenna felt like a child once more, desperate to prove herself to everyone. But it was different with her uncle, because he would not be disappointed with her like her mother or father would. "Good," he said, and the princess beamed. "Have you been reading the books I sent you?"

"Every last one of them," she replied proudly. Noticing her uncle's swaying frame and the goblet of ale that had escaped her notice, Kenna cursed herself for not realising sooner. "Good gods, uncle, are you already drunk?"

He hummed, not even bothering to deny it. "And here I thought I was especially skilled at hiding my drunkenness. You've crushed my dreams, sweet girl. First my dream of becoming the funniest man in Westeros, and now _this_? Its a wonder those northerners seem to be so fond of you."

"They are so 'fond of me' because I do not drink all of their ale," she retorted, smiling despite herself. Her smile faltered as her uncle struggled to walk, and a heavy sigh escaped her pouting lips. "I believe that I should bring you to your room before you make a scene and embarrass Mother."

A loud chuckle – frighteningly loud for such a small man – tore through the cold, night air. "Quite a gentleman you have turned into, little princess. Escorting drunken damsels to their room."

Kenna rolled her eyes and placed her hand on his shoulder before pushing him towards his rooms. Before she could enter the castle through the door on the other side, she heard yelling coming from the training yard. One of the two – the victim, by the sounds of it – was sullen and even-tempered in his responses, while the other person was roaring her head off. She worried when she recognised the girl's voice – it was Alys.

"Ah, young love," her uncle slurred as Kenna watched them both warily. While she could not make out what Alys was saying, her friend sounded like she was upset. Kenna wanted to go over there and comfort her – she really did – but Uncle Tyrion was drunk and would probably embarrass both himself and her mother if he was left unattended. "He's going to tale the black, you know. Brave boy – he wants to protect us from all of those horrible monsters beyond the Wall."

"I didn't know that," Kenna said, sending Alys one more pitiful glance before leading her uncle to his rooms.

* * *

Once she had tucked her uncle into bed – not that she actually expected him to stay in bed, though she had tucked him in tight enough to cause difficulty – Kenna slowly made her way to her chambers. She debated on whether she ought to visit Alys to see if her friend was alright, but Alys usually preferred to wallow in her sadness for a while before speaking to anyone.

The echoing of her lone footsteps through the long hall was soon joined by another. Kenna prayed that it wasn't her mother, as she would surely berate Kenna for the small spectacle with Robb. She sighed with relief when a more masculine shape with squared shoulders came into view, though her relief was short lived once she saw who it was.

"I'm sorry I ran off," Kenna said when he was close enough. There was no anger on his face, only worry. She would have preferred anger to this, because it seemed like lately he was always worried about her for one reason or another. "It was rude. I just..." She exhaled a loud, heavy breath and stared down at her hands. "I'm sorry."

Hesitantly, he placed his hands beneath her chin and lifted her eyes to meet his. With one step, he closed the space between them and smiled reassuringly. "It's alright. Honestly, I was just worried about you."

"You shouldn't worry about me." She attempted to conjure a smile, though it resulted in a small smile that was almost a grimace. "Your face will become aged and wrinkly much too early."

"And would you still like me then?" Robb asked, raising a brow in a teasing manner.

She hummed and pretended to think about it, tilting her head to the side, before cupping his face in her hands and brushing her lips against his. "Of course I would." Smiling, she smoothed her thumb against the soft skin of his shaven cheeks. "I think I prefer you with a beard."

"And I prefer you without one," Robb replied, grinning. Kenna breathed a small laugh in response as she captured his lips with her own.

Their first kiss had been heated and full of passion, but their second kiss was soft and gentle. Robb slid one of his arms around her lower back, their bodies pressing against each other as he ran his tongue across her teeth, asking for entrance. She gripped his hair lightly as his tongue joined hers.

After a few moments of uninterrupted bliss, Kenna pulled back, gasping for breath, and backed up against a wall. She had fallen for him, and judging by how his eyes lit up when he saw her, Robb had fallen for her her too. If things had gone as they were supposed to, she would have been blessed with a husband who loved her, and a husband whom she loved.

"I spoke with my mother." Her voice was soft, barely louder than a whisper. "We're not going to be married, Robb. My father hasn't said anything to me about it, but it sounds like he agreed with my mother."

"Why would he agree?" There was anger in his tone, and etched upon his face. Kenna frowned. Robb wasn't an angry person, but when he was angry... it scared her. "Your father was the one who organised this betrothal. He's the one who sent you north, to get to know me and your future home. And now he decides that he doesn't want us to be married, he wants to bring you back, with no regard or thought as to how this would affect us!"

"Robb, shh," she said quietly, reaching out to grab his hands in hers. "My father is the _king_. If anyone heard you speaking badly of him..."

His chest rose and fell with every heavy, angry breath he took until he finally calmed down. "You're right. You're absolutely right." When his breathing had settled, Robb's suddenly widened and lit up as he thought of something – a solution, perhaps, as a large grin had spread across his lips. "I have an idea. If we get a witness or two, and a septon, we can get married at the Sept. Then you can stay here, with me. They couldn't bring you to King's Landing if you were married to me." Kenna pressed her lips into a thin line, her thoughts conflicting with each other. Robb shook her after a few seconds of silence, his eyes pleading with her to say yes. "Say something, Kenna. Say that you'll marry me. Isn't that what you wanted – for us to get married and stay here and have half a dozen children? Isn't that what you want?"

Kenna bit her lower lip and looked away from him. A secret wedding was a tempting idea, one that almost had her running to the Sept, but there was something holding her back. As much as she cared for Robb, her duty was to her family. It would _always _be to her family.

"Of course it is what I want," Kenna replied, stepping away from the man who was once her betrothed. The wounded look on his face made her feel horrible, but she knew that marrying him in secret was not honourable. "But we _can't_, Robb. We just can't. It's our duty-"

"_Duty_?" Robb scoffed. "Our _duty _was to get to know each other and then to marry, to strength the North's tie to the crown. We did half of that – we embraced our duty without much more than a second thought. And then when we finally want to marry, your father decides that it doesn't suit him and calls off the betrothal."

"He hasn't yet," Kenna said quietly. She hadn't allowed herself to hope, because her mother sounded so sure. So certain that the betrothal binding her family's most hated house to their own was broken. Seeing the hope flicker in Robb's eyes made her heart achedrop. "But my mother was convinced that my father would call off the betrothal. She never wanted this to happen. For years she's been fighting my father on this. I don't know what she did, but it seems like she succeeded in the end."

"No, she hasn't. Not until your father says so and I see you on your horse will I truly believe that she's succeeded." His voice was so _firm_, so strong and full of hope. Kenna wished that he would see reason – it would be easier for him if he did. She pitied him, for the first time she was the one pitying him. His hands cupped her face and pulled her towards him. "I love you, Kenna. Do you hear me? I _love _you."

His words shocked her, but at the same time they made her smile. When she first fell in love with him, she did not know. Or even if it was a gradual thing, that had grown like a seed from the first day they were civil to each other.

"I love you too," she replied, and his whole expression brightened with a large smile. Kenna faltered as her mother's words echoed through her mind, and stepped away from him. "But love is irrelevant for people like us." She said the words like they were poison. And by the wounded, confused look Robb was giving her that washed Kenna in guilt, she was sure that the words were poison – in every sense of the word. She sucked in a deep breath, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I'm going with them, if that's what my father wants."

"Kenna, don't-"

"They're my family, Robb," she said. "And he is the king. I will do as I am told, as I have always done." She reached for his hands and gripped them in her own, braving what she thought to be a reassuring smile. "And you can come to the south someday. This doesn't have to be forever."

"And what if your married to some old southern lord by then?" Robb asked.

Kenna frowned. She didn't think that her father would marry her off to a man she did not desire. As a princess, she believed that she had_some_ choice in who she married. But the probable end to her betrothal to Robb meant that she had even less choices than she thought. That startled her.

"Then we'll run away to the Free Cities. No, you know what? If I hear one whisper of a betrothal between myself and someone that isn't you, I will get on the fastest horse in King's Landing and race back to Winterfell." The corners of his mouth tweaked upwards at that, though she could see it written on his face that he didn't believe her. In all honesty, Kenna didn't believe herself. She let out a heavy sigh. "I know that you think that I am acting like a weak-willed child with no mind of her own, and maybe I am, but you have to understand, Robb. My duty is whatever my father – the _king –_ wills it to be."

"I do understand," he assured her. "You love your family, and you are so dutiful, and I even admire that about you. But when you're with them, Kenna... I don't know. You're just _different_. You're quieter, and no matter what your mother or brother says you agree with them. And I can see why you do. Your brother is a little shit. I wanted to kill him tonight, I really did. He was hurting you." His fingers traced the purple bruise on her wrist so softly that it didn't even hurt. "You don't deserve that, Kenna. And they don't deserve you."

She ripped her hands from him, her eyes narrowed angrily at him in a venomous glare. "Those people that you speak of are my family."

"_Family _is supposed to lift you up," he told her calmly, sympathy – and _pity –_ etched on his face. "Not tear you down."

Her mouth opened to spit angry words at him, though the words never came. What would he know? He barely knew her family, but yet he was so quick to pass judgement on them. He didn't know of the time when her mother stroked her hair because her cat had died, or the time when her father pulled her onto his lap and told her tales of his rebellion. Or the time when he placed her on the Iron Throne. He didn't even know how close her and Joffrey were as children, before his personality took a turn for the worse. Robb didn't know, so he couldn't understand.

Kenna huffed, at a loss for words, before whipping around and storming away from him. Once she reached her chambers, she slammed the door shut angrily and pushed her face into a pillow, letting out a muffled, high-pitched scream.

* * *

The next morning, she sought to speak with Alys about what happened with Jon the previous night. How could she have been so _blind _to her friend's feelings? Had she truly been so absolved in her own world and her own problems to notice that Alys had a problem of her own?

Alys never spoke of her problems – oh no, she was much too prideful for that – so it was her job to notice when things were amiss. The last few months were hectic for Kenna, though she was ashamed now when she thought of how mediocre her problems were – how _childish_ and unimportant. As she hesitated outside of Alys' chambers, she pressed her ear to the door, pleasantly surprised when she did not hear sobbing.

"Alys?" she called, knocking softly on the wooden door. "Are you in there?"

"One moment!" her friend chirped. Kenna could hear the rustling of Alys' dresses through the door, as well as the slight shake in her voice. Before she could gather her thoughts, Alys had pulled the door open, a bright smile on her face. "You can come in now."

Her eyebrows knitted together as she observed Alys closely with narrowed eyes. The smile was innocent and told nothing, so Kenna simply sighed and stepped inside the room. The fire burned in the right corner of the room as the smell of burnt sheets burdened Kenna's nostrils. As far as Kenna knew, burning things usually meant that the person had something to hide. She turned around to face Alys once again – this time paying closer attention to her face. The glow she emitted was unmissable, and her smile contagious. Though she should have been happy for Alys, Kenna only felt worry.

"I heard about Jon," Kenna said, clasping her hands in front of her. Not even the mention of Jon's departure caused Alys to stop smiling. _What in Seven Hells is going on with her? _"I didn't know that he was leaving, nor did I know how you felt for him. I'm sorry that-" Then, out of absolutely nowhere, Alys started giggling. The gesture was odd enough on his own, because Alys _never _giggled and teased those who did. Kenna was baffled beyond words. "Why are you laughing? I thought you would be upset?"

"I would be." Alys fidgeted with her dress, her eyes cast downwards, though the smile never left her face. "But he's not leaving."

"Excuse me? But I thought..."

"He _was_." She accentuated the 'was' with both happiness and... _pride_. As though she was the reason he hadn't left. The realisation that Alys cared for Jon was shocking enough, the mere notion that he reciprocated those feelings made Kenna feel like a blind fool. "But I talked to him and he decided that he wants to stay with me."

Briefly, Kenna wondered if _talking _was all they did, although she dismissed that thought. Jon was much too honourable and Alys was intelligent enough to know that losing her maidenhead would ruin her and her future. "Alys..." She chose her words carefully, not wanting to offend her friend. "What life do you expect to have with him? You cannot stay in Winterfell forever."

Alys lowered her eyes to the floor. In all honesty, she had not thought too far ahead. She was still engulfed in the blissful warmth of his arms around her. "We could go to the Free Cities. I quite like the idea of leaving Westeros for a while."

"And how would you support yourselves?" If Alys was planning on running away, which Kenna hoped that she wasn't, then she ought to know what she going to do.

"I could sell my dresses and jewels."

Kenna shook her head. "You would survive for two years at the most on that gold."

"Jon could work as a sellsword," Alys offered. She didn't like the idea of him fighting all the time, but if it was their only way of earning a living...

"He would be gone for months at a time." The sympathy and pity that dripped from her words made Alys glare at the princess with angry, grey eyes. "The life of a sellsword is demanding, and still you wouldn't earn too much money."

"That doesn't _matter_," Alys snapped, raking a hand through her long black hair. "I love him and he loves me, that's all that matters. Not that you would understand. You wouldn't even fight for the man you claim to love."

_Love is irrelevant __for__ people like us. _Like the words of a song, her mother's words of wisdom often echoed in her mind. She found Alys' situation to be all too similar to her own, and so Kenna was more passionate about her opinion. Dutycame before love, always.

"You are a highborn lady, Alys. And he..." Alys dared her to say the words. She dared her to condemn the boy Kenna had befriended and played with as a child. The princess inhaled a deep breath, and said the words that caused her stomach to fall to the floor in guilt. "He is a _bastard_. If you married him then you would be shunned from your family, condemned to a life of poverty and exile in the Free Cities. You would never see any of us again, nor would Jon. You would be alone, in a foreign land with little money or friends. Is that the life you want for him? For yourself?"

Tears welled in Alys' eyes, but she hid them well and shook her head. "No," she whispered in a small voice.

Kenna gently placed a hand on Alys' shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze. "Tell him to go to the Wall, Alys. He'll be happier for it. He could rise from the shame of being a bastard. He could finally accept himself for who he is. Would you begrudge him that?" Alys shook her head wordlessly. "Then let him go."

In her head, Alys resentfully admitted that she was right.

* * *

Robert Baratheon was not a man of words – especially not at this _ungodly _hour of the morning. His words were filled with anger and rage or fuelled by drink. So while his daughter sat before him, Robert was wishing that he had a goblet of ale in his belly to make it all go easier.

As the years past by, Cersei's acts of revenge slowly escalated before becoming utterly barbaric. Her last act of revenge was what had caused him to call off the betrothal. She was a pretty thing, the serving wench that he had taken to his bed the night of Joffrey's nameday, but now he couldn't think of that pretty serving wench without conjuring the image of her lifeless body floating on the surface of the sea. The worst thing about it was that she had looked like his lost love Lyanna Stark. No doubt her appearance contributed to her demise.

He had punished his wife, but not nearly as much as he wanted to. As king, he should have been able to chop her golden head off her shoulders, but the crown was in debt to Tywin Lannister – Cersei's father – and only a fool would cross him.

"Is it true then?" Kenna asked, aware that the king was unlikely to start the conversation himself. Robert knew that she had grown fond of the boy. Ned had told him, and in her letters – yes, he actually read them – his daughter wrote of the boy fondly. That made him regret the decision even more. _They could have been like me and Lyanna, _he thought bitterly. _But just like me, she will have to deal with Cersei as a replacement for a lost love. _His silence was enough of an answer for Kenna. She scoffed and shook her head, disbelieving. "I knew that Mother didn't want me to marry Robb. She thought – she _thinks –_ that she's protecting me. But you... you wanted this to happen. You wanted me to marry Robb, that's why you sent me away from my home – from my _family_! And you didn't even put up that much of a fight!"

"Lower your voice, girl," he told her sternly. "I may be your father, but I am still the king."

She fell back in her chair, folding her arms over her chest and pouting. It was the first time that he could see the familial resemblance between his eldest daughter and Joffrey, and he wished that somehow he could unsee it. He didn't want to see any of his bratty, petulant son in his beloved eldest daughter.

"So I will return with you – to the capital?" Robert didn't respond, only giving her brief nod and a grunt. Kenna huffed once again. She tried to see the best in this, she really did. The only positive side of returning to King's Landing that she could see was staying with her siblings. "I suppose these last few years in the North were a waste then. Since I will most likely never see it again."

"Not a waste," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Your mother can try, but she'll never shake the North out of you, girl. Its not something that can just fade away with time."

Kenna smiled, and Robert smiled with her. Receiving a true, warm smile from her father was a rare jewel, so Kenna savoured the moment even though she was mad at him.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **248 follows and 139 alerts? You guys are seriously amazing! This chapter set a lot of events into place, even the scenes that you might think are irrelevant. Writing this chapter was like writing a Spanish soap opera! But I hope that it wasn't too fluffy that it became annoying. Most of the characters are quite young, so their misfortunes in life are exaggerated into tragedies in their minds. I hope that none of the characters are OOC. Its one of my worries when writing fanfiction, so do tell me if anyone is OOC. _

_Until next time! :)_


	9. Have I Done Any Good?

**_Author's Note:_**_ I am so, so, so sorry for the long absence! I had pretty major exams to do this year so I had to lay off on internet and stuff, but honestly I probably should have gotten out at least one chapter in the last year. This chapter is pretty long, so maybe that makes up for some of it? Hopefully updates will become more regular now that I'm on holidays. Thanks for all the reviews, favourites and follows for the last year! I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint! _

**Have I Done Any Good?**

It had been two whole days since her last conversation with Robb. Kenna couldn't remember the last time they had gone without speaking for more than a day, or if they ever had. Their lessons with Maester Luwin had reached an end almost two years ago, when Robb's education began to centre on fighting and learning how to rule the North and Kenna's education focused on ladylike skills such as sewing and dancing.

But in those two years Kenna had spent _at least _a few minutes each day chatting with Robb about anything at all, even if she shared no lessons with him. Winterfell wasn't like King's Landing, where one could go weeks without seeing someone's face. It was easy to bump into someone in Winterfell, unless a person was explicitly avoiding another.

Avoiding her seemed to be what Robb Stark was trying to do. She would see his back as soon she entered a room he was in, see him engage in a closed conversation with just about anyone if he saw her approaching. To say she was offended was an understatement. Surely she meant more to him that this? How could he so easily shut her out? What had she done?

So, when she entered the Great Hall for breakfast, it came as a shock to her when Robb didn't immediately stand up and leave. She had broken fast with her family in private for the past two mornings, purposely avoiding a situation such as this. As he ate his morning meal, Robb watched her through hooded eyes. Kenna only glanced at him once as she approached the table.

Just as she was about to take a turn left and walk towards the table where the Stark children, Theon and Alys were sitting, she saw her mother pat the seat beside her with a welcoming, yet chilling, smile on her face. Those sitting at her usual table seemed too occupied with chatter to notice, so Kenna chose to sit beside her mother at the top table. Only one of them would notice, and that would be Robb.

Queen Cersei's smile grew wider as she saw Kenna approach. _This is a victory for her, _Kenna realised bitterly, still approaching the table. Her mother reached out a hand just as Kenna was about to sit down and rubbed her daughter's upper arm with motherly affection.

"You look most radiant this morning, my dear," her mother complimented.

Kenna smiled at her and took her seat on Cersei's left. On her mother's right sat the king, who seemed rather grumpy. He never was a morning person. Kenna put less food on her plate than usual, well aware of her mother's gaze. Back in King's Landing the queen would berate her children if she thought they were eating too much. No lord wanted to marry a fat princess, and no subject would respect a young lord who would break a horse's back if he tried to ride it.

Her mother was still looking at her thoughtfully as Kenna ate some of her breakfast. It made her self-conscious and put her off her food. She gave her mother a questioning look, and hoped that the queen didn't think Kenna was being rude.

In response, Cersei smiled again. "Forgive me, I merely worry about you. You seem... distant."

_Distant? I thought I was radiant. _"Oh?" was the only response Kenna could think of.

"Yes," her mother replied, assessing her daughter keenly. Kenna didn't think she would gather much from her expression. "Have you spoken much with the Stark boy? You do not seem as close with him these past few days."

Of course her mother would notice. Cersei Lannister noticed _everything_. Her fork stopped mid-air, just as she was about to shovel the mashed egg into her mouth. As gently as possible, she placed the fork on the plate and smoothed her skirts without daring to look at her mother.

"No? Well, there has been no falling out if that is what you think," Kenna lied through her teeth. Knowing that Kenna was lying – Cersei could detect if one of her cubs were lying remarkably easily – her mother shot her a stern look. Kenna broke and huffed a loud sigh. "I don't know what's happened. We had a small argument the night of the welcoming feast and since then he's been ignoring me. I don't _know _what I did to him to make him so cold all of a sudden. What do I do?"

Cersei's smile was sympathetic. It was the kindest smile she ever saw on her mother's face. With just one smile, everything felt a little bit better. Her mother placed a hand on her arm. "Nothing. You do absolutely nothing." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Robb Stark cares not for you now that you will not be wed to him, now that he knows you will not share his bed. I suppose he thought that your couplings would be more enjoyable if you adored him as you did. My sweet girl, you were played for a fool."

The queen's reasoning confused her, but still forced Kenna to second guess Robb's intentions. Perhaps he was upset with her not because they would no longer be wed, but rather because she would no longer be able to sleep with him. Perhaps he was more like Theon Greyjoy than she had thought. Perhaps-

_No. _This was ridiculous. She _knew _Robb. She knew that his intentions would always be honourable; she knew that when he said that he loved her, he did love her. Her mother didn't understand! Robb was not like other men, not like the men in the south. But then why did he shut her out so abruptly, when she had explained clearly her motivations for going south? Was he hurt? Did he not care that his actions, his decision to ignore her, had hurt her too?

Kenna didn't know how to reply. She simply stared at her breakfast, no longer hungry. Cersei offered her eldest child a smile and patted her hand. "He is not worth any thought, my dear. Perhaps you can see now that your father breaking your betrothal is a blessing, if the young wolf acts so sourly when he doesn't get his way."

"Robb is a good man," Kenna defended her former husband-to-be without a second thought. She would not allow his name to be slandered.

Pity seeped into her mother's sad smile. "They are all good men until you are bound by marriage to them. Until you have opened your legs to them and they can now consider your cunt to be theirs."

Her mother spoke bitterly, such bitterness made Kenna's entire frame tense. She glanced behind her mother to her father, who was now in conversation with Lord Stark. Her eyes once again rested on her mother, whose face no longer carried a smile.

"We are leaving in eight days," her mother informed her plainly. "Make sure your things are packed, and make sure to leave any gowns you've received during your time here. You will have no need for them in the south."

Breakfast was quiet after that. She ate silently, digesting her conversation with her mother as best as she could. It was like solving a puzzle with missing pieces – her mother didn't make any sense. It made Kenna wonder if she was stupid, or if her mother didn't fully understand what she was saying.

Either way, Kenna could digest enough to know that everything was going to change.

* * *

"Why isn't Kenna sitting with us?" Arya asked the table, looking around for someone to answer her. Nobody did. "Hello?"

"Ask Robb," Theon suggested. Robb was prepared to strangle him. He was prepared to strange just about anyone. The heir to the Iron Islands flashed Robb an arrogant smirk. "He should know why, and I bet he's just itching to let us know. Come on, Robb. Let it out."

Robb could only see red. He was angry with Theon, with Arya for asking, with Kenna for being such a dutiful idiot, with the entire Great Hall for just _being there_. His grip on his fork tightened and his knuckles turned white. Words rose up his throat, and came out whether he wanted to say them or not, each word accentuated by his fork stabbing into a piece of bacon.

"Kenna isn't sitting with us because the queen wanted Kenna to sit beside her. And since Kenna has the spine of a slug, she couldn't possibly say no." Robb knew he should stop. That he should go back to getting his anger out by stabbing his bacon silently. He knew he was being unfair, but he couldn't stop. He was so _angry._ "Which is why she's going back to King's Landing, because her mother demanded it of her and Kenna would _bend_ over backwards to make her mother happy."

They all stared at him wide-eyed, even Theon who had goaded him into his little rant. He felt a little lighter now, and even a little guilty for what he'd said. It was all true, every word of what he said, but that didn't mean he had a right to speak poorly of Kenna in front of his family and friends.

"That wasn't very nice, Robb," Bran said quietly, staring at his lap. That made Robb feel even guiltier. If his _little brother _knew what he said was wrong, then what kind of moral compass did Robb even have?

"Kenna's leaving?" his youngest brother Rickon asked, sadness heavy in his little, young voice.

Sansa pulled her brother closer to her and rubbed his arm affectionately. His sister may be insufferable at times, but she was like his mother when it came to the children – she adored them. Especially Rickon, who was much younger than her.

"Perhaps she just wants to speak with her family. She was away from them for so long... she must have missed them," Sansa said in the princess' defence. Robb was ready to rip his hair out. _So now you decide to be sensible, dear sister? _"Seven years is an awful long time to be away from your family. Imagine being away from Mother for seven years! Wouldn't you want spend every moment with her?"

"Kenna has plenty of time to spend with her family when she goes south," Robb answered back shortly. "You'd think that she'd want to spend some time with us, before she left. The Gods only know when we'll see her next."

"So that's what this is about?" Theon taunted, delighted at the chance to mock Robb. His lower lip was jutted out exaggeratively as he said in a babyish voice, "Robb isn't getting enough attention from the pwincess!"

"Piss off, Theon," Robb said, irritated, as he not so lightly pushed his friend. Theon merely laughed, being the little shit that he was.

He ate the remainder of his breakfast in silence, viciously stabbing his food and glaring at his plate. His family or friends didn't say anything, knowing full well that it was useless to speak to him when he was in this humour, but Robb could feel a few dirty looks burning holes into his head.

Once he had shovelled down his breakfast remarkably fast, Robb stood from his seat and left the Great Hall in a huff. He would get his sword and hit some poor dummy with it until the dummy lost its head. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so angry.

Just as he was going to enter the training yard, he heard light footsteps behind him and turned his head to see who it was. Kenna stood a mere few feet away from him, looking at him hopefully. Robb almost thawed upon seeing her face – those doe eyes could force a king to give up his kingdom – but then anger settled in him again and he turned his back on her.

"No, no. Stop!" he heard her call desperately, her footsteps no longer light as she rushed towards him. Robb was tempted to sprint away from her, but found his pace was slow as some part of Robb wanted her to catch up with him. He felt a hand circle around his wrist and pull him back, and Robb was once again faced with those pretty blue eyes. "_Talk _to me, Robb. Tell me what's wrong."

"So you can make excuses and then leave anyway?" Robb scoffed. His harsh tone made Kenna flinch, but he felt no guilt. "I get it – I do. You're loyal to your family; your duty is to go where they want to go. I'm fine with it, honestly. Just don't expect me to be wait at your feet for the next few days when I'm probably never going to see you again."

"I don't expect you to wait at my feet!" Kenna insisted. Robb scoffed again, his eyes fixed on the Keep. He would look anywhere but at her. "I expect you to talk to me! To not hate me because of something I can't control!"

"Don't you see, Kenna? You're not even trying to stay! If you really wanted to stay in Winterfell you would have went with me to the Sept that night, consequences be damned, but no – your family comes before everything. I'm not sure if its because you love them too much, or if you don't love me enough. Or perhaps you're just lacking a backbone."

"I do not lack a backbone!" Kenna exclaimed. Robb shot her a look and tilted his head to the side in disbelief. Kenna exhaled a loud, heavy breath. "Fine, maybe I'm being too... submissive, but I do love my family, and a part of me does want to go back to King's Landing to be with them. Its been so long, Robb. I missed them."

_So you do want to leave. _Robb couldn't help feeling a little hurt at that. Was he not good enough? It was easier to think of Kenna being bullied into leaving by her mother, or to believe that she was leaving only because of duty, because her family demanded it of her and she was too meek to say no. To think that she actually _wanted _to leave – that her feelings actually came into play – made Robb feel even worse.

"So you don't love me enough. Good to know," he concluded, ripping his wrist away from her grasp. He hated feeling like this, feeling so weak and needy.

"I never said that." Kenna was shaking her head, eyes still as wide as saucers. She took a step closer to him and placed her hands on his shoulders. Still experiencing some dwindling anger, Robb was tempted to flinch away from her, but he couldn't. Kenna smiled at him. "I love you, more than enough. And I know that this hurts you, even if you would deny it, because it hurts me too. Perhaps I wasn't being completely honest with you, Robb. Perhaps I wasn't being completely honest with myself. The truth is, that if my father were to ask me if I wanted to stay here, that I didn't have to go with them when they left, I would... I would have to think about it. Its been a little more than six years since I left. Its hard being away from my family, and seeing Tommen and Myrcella all grown up without me... it made me realise how much I was missing."

_Damn her. _Robb was beginning to understand, though he would prefer to vilify her or her family. It was difficult, trying to put himself into her shoes when he had never spent more than a few days away from any member of his family, but Robb could understand why she would want to leave.

"I suppose I would feel the same if I was away from my family," Robb conceded, and Kenna beamed up at him, visibly delighted that he was finally seeing things her way. He still felt a little hurt and some anger still remained, but he didn't think he could do anything about that. A heavy sigh escaped Robb's lips. "I was a prick. I shouldn't have ignored you like that. If you want to go to King's Landing, and that's your choice regardless of who tells you to go where, then I respect that, and we will part on good terms."

A huge smile came upon Kenna's face, splitting it in half. "Hey, you didn't let me finish. I would have difficulty deciding, yes, but I would choose to stay here, with you. What I'm saying is, that you are my first choice, now and always, but going to King's Landing with my family is not a horrible alternative. I wouldn't go if I wasn't told to go, if I wasn't bound by duty to my family, yes, but I'm not going to fight them on it because I do want to go." She cupped Robb's face in her hands gently, and smiled at him again. "But _you _are my first choice. You always were."

As though he was pulled towards her by some other-worldly element, Robb pressed his lips against hers in one slow movement. His hands found themselves on her hips and pulled her body closer to his. She was his first choice too – no one could change that. There would be no woman but her.

A thought crossed his mind just then, and prompted him to pull away from her. Kenna gave him a confused look, still held in their embrace. "Kenna, you do realise that if you go south, we might never be like this again."

"What do you mean?"

"We might never be married," Robb continued. Kenna's lips parted as she prepared some sort of reassurance, but Robb spoke before she could. "I know – I know that you said that you would run away if they tried to marry you off, but I _know _you. You will do your duty, regardless of whether it will bring you happiness. And if you're married to some southern lord, then I'll never see you again, and if I do you'll already be wed."

"I won't let them marry me to someone who isn't you. I'll tell them that I will only marry you," Kenna promised, and the certainty her voice carried almost made Robb believe her.

He shook his head. "Your mother hates me. It would take a great deal of persuading for her to let you come north again." Kenna pressed her lips together in a firm line. She couldn't argue with that. Everybody knew that Cersei Lannister hated the North, and hated her daughter's betrothal to a Stark even more. "I'm not trying to dissuade you from going south. I just... if you are going to leave, I want you to be fully aware of what might happen."

Kenna nodded silently. Her head was bowed as she stared at the ground, seemingly lost in thought. As impatient as he was, Robb was going to ask her what she was thinking about, but thought against it. She was probably making an important decision – she deserved silence.

"But what other option do I have?" Kenna said finally after a few moments of being deep in thought. She looked so helpless. He wanted to remind her that there was another option, but he knew that she was well aware of it. _Marry me, Kenna. Marry me and be damned. _"I know what you're thinking, that we should just marry and be done with it, but I don't think I can do that. I am sorry, Robb, but I can't disobey my family, as flawed as they are."

"So this is it, then?"

"It might be," Kenna replied sadly. "I am sorry, Robb. Truly."

Robb nodded. "As am I. For acting so coldly to you and for this."

"Maybe this won't be goodbye forever?" Kenna suggested hopefully. She looked up at him, begging for him to say something reassuring. Robb didn't know what to say. He never liked making empty promises, or telling white lies, but what else could he do?

"Maybe," Robb replied, a small smile on his lips. "Its in the Gods' hands now."

* * *

The days that followed went by much too fast. Kenna dreaded leaving, though some part of her was excited to see the Red Keep again, to see her old chambers. She spent her final days in Winterfell with the Stark children and Alys, and especially Robb. They were teasing themselves. They both knew that these few days would be their last, possibly forever, and Kenna wondered if they ought to be using this time for less emotionally binding activities, such as cards.

When she brought this up with Alys, the Karstark girl barked a laugh and doubled over, engulfed in a laughing fit. Kenna was confused. _What have I said? _

"Oh, Kenna. Only you would want to spend your few remaining days with a handsome boy like Robb Stark _playing cards_!" And with that, she was laughing again. Kenna's face broke into a smile. It was good to see Alys laughing; she had been so sullen these last few days. Seeing her smile was a welcome change, even if she was laughing at Kenna herself.

"Well, what else would you have us do?" Kenna asked, still smiling. Alys wiggled her eyebrows, barely holding in laughter, in a suggestive manner, which caused Kenna to giggle like a mad woman. "Oh Gods, stop it, Alys! You would have me jump into bed with him?"

"It would be a nice farewell present though, wouldn't it?" The princess smacked Alys' arms playfully and sent her a look, still smiling manically. Alys rolled her eyes, a smile on her lips. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about, Kenna. Those hands... wandering around your body, touching places you never knew you wanted to be touched... and then he goes down south to your c-"

"Alys!" Kenna shrieked, giving her friend a scandalised look. If anyone was to hear her, a _princess_, speaking so obscenely about such things... why, she might just have to lock herself in her room for the next year. True, they were in Alys' room and the door was closed, but Kenna was rather paranoid.

Alys merely smirked. "Oh, please. I'm positive that inside that proper little head of yours you imagine the same things we all imagine. Don't tell me you've never thought of lying with someone before?"

"We're not all as vulgar as you, Alys," Kenna said. Her cheeks were turning a bright shade of red as she lied through her teeth. Nobody needed to know of how she dreamt of the same things Alys went on about at night, or how she'd wake up some nights with an ache between her legs. It wasn't proper, so she wouldn't speak of it.

Her companion hummed, choosing to not express her opinion in words for a change, but rather with a sceptical expression. As her mouth opened and she was ready with a response, she shut her mouth tightly and gagged, her hand immediately going to her stomach.

"Alys?" Kenna asked, worriedly.

Before she could register what was happening, Alys raced to the chamber pot and fell to her knees in front of it. A most disgusting liquid spilled from Alys' mouth as she vomited up her breakfast. Kenna flinched, but rushed to hold Alys' hair out of her face as the young girl finished vomiting.

When she was done vomiting up an abnormal amount of food, Alys fell onto her bed, holding her head in her hands. Kenna opened the door slightly and asked a passing servant for water.

"I feel much better now. I've been feeling absolutely horrible all day," Alys was saying. Kenna sat down beside her and rubbed her back like the queen had done with her on the days she was sick, back when she lived in King's Landing. "Its been like this the past few days, actually. I swear that I vomit more food up than I put in."

"You ought to go to Maester Luwin. He'll have something for you."

Alys shook her head at that suggestion. "No. There's no need. I'm sure it will pass, and I only feel queasy for a little while after breakfast. I don't want to trouble him."

"Hm." It was Kenna's turn to be sceptic. The maid returned hastily with Alys' water. Within a few minutes, Alys had already regained much of her colour. "Are you sure you don't want to go to Maester Luwin?" Kenna asked again.

"No, there's really no need. All I need is some fresh air. Will you join me?" Alys said, up and ready.

Seeing no point in arguing with her, Kenna nodded and followed Alys into the courtyard. The courtyard was bustling with people, as it often was at this time of day. Normally, she would be attending sewing lessons with Septa Mordane and the girls, but since her family were visiting, the septa had allowed Kenna to miss some lessons. Alys, however, was still required to attend, but somehow Kenna didn't think Septa Mordane minded if she wasn't there. Alys Karstark was beyond help when it came to sewing and other ladylike pursuits.

Her attention was taken from her thoughts when she heard shouting from the training yard. She rushed over to the sill to see what it was about, joining Arya and Jon as they watched Joffrey and Robb squabble.

"What's going on?" Kenna asked the two Stark siblings, glancing between them and the display Joffrey was putting on in the training yard.

"Joffrey wanted to use live steel, but Ser Rodrik refused him," Arya told her, eyes fixed on the training yard in front of them. She glared at Joffrey as though he was a great enemy of hers. "He keeps throwing stupid insults at Robb, and all the squires keep laughing with him."

Kenna frowned. Her brother always did like a crowd. When they were children and playing in the gardens, Joffrey would make fun of her or trip her up just so their companions would laugh at her. As cruel as he was, Joffrey desired approval, and as the royal prince approval was rather easy to come by.

She focused her attention on the scene in front of her. "Come and see me when you're olden then, Stark. If you're not _too _old," Joffrey taunted pompously. Kenna was embarrassed for him, embarrassed by the blood she was forced to share with her brother as Robb shot curses at Joffrey. Theon had to seize his arm and pull him away. As though bored, Joffrey merely feigned a yawn. "Come, Tommen. The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics."

The Lannister men laughed and Robb continued to curse. "What a shit," Kenna muttered of her brothers, loud enough for the Stark siblings to hear.

Their heads turned instantly in her direction, their faces carrying identical shocked expressions. She didn't understand what was so surprising – Joffrey was a shit, no doubt about it – though she supposed that she had never spoken ill of Joffrey before, despite his obvious flaws. She waited for Alys' contagious laugh to echo through the cold, winter air, but it never came. Kenna's head snapped over to the side, and she was shocked to find that she wasn't there. How strange. Why did she go?

Her attention was stolen by the sight of Joffrey and the Hound leading Tommen out of the training yard. In the past week she had tried her best to ensure that Tommen wasn't left alone with Joffrey. After her conversation with Myrcella, Kenna didn't like leaving either of her younger siblings with Joffrey. She pushed herself into a standing position and walked over to them in a swifter pace than she had ever thought possible.

"Brother!" she called, hoping she hadn't already betrayed her dislike of him or the nervousness his presence seemed to cause in her. Joffrey whirled around, an eyebrow raised, wondering _what on earth _could be so important for her to waste his precious time with. She forced a smile onto her lips. "I just wanted to compliment you on your skill in your training yard." She hadn't seen him fighting, but Joffrey didn't seem to notice her absence and fell for her little lie.

"Well, Robb Stark was hardly the most challenging of opponents," Joffrey said, and his band of Lannister men and squires laughed at his _oh-so incredible wit_. "Not that I wish to offend you, sister. You seem to be quite fond of Stark."

"No offence taken at all," Kenna replied smoothly, flashing him another friendly smile. She directed her attention onto Tommen then, her smile becoming entirely real. "Would you like to come to my room for a bit? I could show you my books." Tommen nodded eagerly, whether it was because he was eager to see the books or leave Joffrey's side Kenna didn't know. "If you wouldn't mind sparing him, Joffrey."

Joffrey regarded Tommen distastefully, and then graced Kenna with the same look. As though they were below him. Kenna's insides burned with rage, but she kept smiling. _After only a few days of being in my family's presence, I have perfected the very same façade, am relearning the very same game. _

"Of course I don't," he said, and gave Tommen a little push in her direction. Kenna's fist clenched as she offered her other hand for Tommen to take, giving her youngest brother an affectionate smile. "Have fun with your books. Good day, sister."

She gave him a nod as her farewell, unable to trust her voice to exclude her hatred for him.

"I think I prefer you to Joffy already," Tommen said quietly. There was a sadness in his voice that no little boy's voice should hold. "Does that make me a bad person?"

Kenna's stomach did a horrible churn. _If anyone is horrible, little brother, it is undoubtedly Joffrey. _Yet here her brother was, wondering if he was the one who was a bad person. She knelt in front of Tommen and brushed his blonde fringe out of his face.

"You are the sweetest boy I have ever met, little brother," she told him. She lowered her voice to a whisper as she spoke words that would make Mother whip them both "And if even you can't love someone like Joffrey, I have difficulty thinking of anyone who could."

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Hopefully it wasn't too fluffy? I was conscience of that when I was writing, and that the characters were too melodramatic. Romance isn't my strong suit in truth, so any tips you have in that regard are very, very welcome! Can I just thank you for how supportive you guys were in my absence? Honestly all the reviews made me come back to this, and the favourites and follows. I hope this chapter didn't disappoint!_


	10. Pieces on a Board

**Pieces on a Board**

Kenna studied the board carefully, eyebrows furrowed in keen concentration. Most of the pieces were taken off the board. Surprisingly, her younger sister had proven herself to be quite the opponent, though she preferred a defensive strategy which meant that the game went much slower. Kenna hadn't played cyvasse in years, the last time being with Uncle Tyrion in King's Landing, and so she was a bit rusty. That didn't mean a girl as young as Myrcella should be able to beat her, however.

"Where's Mother?" Tommen whined, his voice distant to Kenna as she tried to decide what to do next. The last time she looked at him he was playing with a knight, now he was playing with a wooden dragon. "I'm _bored_!" her little brother exclaimed.

"I don't know where Mother is, Tommen. She will return when she wants to," Myrcella said as softly as she could, but there was a sharpness to her tone. She was trying to concentrate as well, and obviously didn't take too kindly to the interruption.

"Why do you two keep staring at the table?" Tommen questioned, placing his knight on the floor beside him and walking over to the table where Myrcella and Kenna were playing cyvasse. He let out a heavy sigh once it became clear that they weren't going to answer him. "Why are you two ignoring me? Its not fair! Just because I can't play chinis-"

"_Cyvasse, _Tommen," Myrcella corrected, not taking her eyes off the board. "And we'll talk to you in a few minutes. Just let us finish the game."

Tommen huffed and folded his arms, muttering a begrudging '_fine._' He stomped back to where his dragon was placed on the floor and fell onto his arse. A frown stayed stubbornly on his face as he played with his dragon. Kenna felt bad, but her attention was soon grasped again by the compelling game in front of her.

She feared making her king vulnerable if she was to take Myrcella's dragon with her trebuchet, even if said dragon was the biggest threat to her elephant – one of the most powerful pieces on the board. Without her dragon, Myrcella would be at a disadvantage, and Kenna could move her elephant in front of her king in the next go...

Chewing at her lower lip in concentration, Kenna decided to take Myrcella's dragon with her trebuchet. Myrcella stayed silent, though a frown did come upon her pretty face as she moved her heavy horse two squares away from Kenna's king. Just after Kenna moved her king away from the threat, someone had opened the door to Kenna's room and entered it with the speed of lightening.

Because of the long, golden hair, Kenna knew that the woman was her mother. Though her back was facing her children it was clear that she was distressed. Her shoulders rose and fell as she took in heavy, shaking breaths. Nobody spoke for a while. Kenna and Myrcella had stopped their game, Tommen stared, bewildered, at their mother, yet nobody spoke.

"The boy fell," Cersei broke the silence, her voice strong and queenly. It was as though she hadn't just crumbled in a way that both bewildered and frightened her three children. As though the display never happened. "The young boy, Bran... he fell from a tower while climbing. A pity, really. The Starks are in mourning."

Her own breath got caught in Kenna's throat and her hand went immediately to her abdomen. Bran – who was always so lively and kind, who had never made an unsteady step while climbing – falling from a tower? It broke her heart and shocked her.

"Is he... is he alive?" Kenna said shakily. She had seen this boy toddle around Winterfell, seen him become a young man... she didn't think she could bare seeing him buried in the crypts.

Cersei eyed her carefully for a few moments before finally giving the much anticipated answer. "Yes." Kenna breathed a sigh of relief and silently sent a prayer of thanks to the Mother. "But only barely. He fell from such a height... he can't have survived."

Kenna didn't fail to notice the hopefulness in her mother's voice. She always knew her mother wasn't like most mothers – she was frosty at times, sometimes downright cruel – but Kenna never thought her capable of wishing harm on a _child. _Had she been sharper, if she hadn't just learned of a young boy's possibly fatal fall, she might have dwelled on it, but alas her thoughts were once again occupied by Bran.

The four of them stayed in silence for a while. It was a mournful silence, though Cersei seemed to be concentrating on something. She seemed fearful too, and somewhat guilty. There was a twisting feeling in Kenna's gut – a churning. Poor Bran – and Robb, oh Robb! All the Starks must be heartbroken! Kenna herself was devastated; and if she, someone who wasn't even related to Bran, was feeling so much sorrow, the Starks must be absolutely crippled by devastation.

Their thoughts were interrupted by another person entering the room. It was Joffrey this time, and he wore a bemused expression and a petulant pout. "The hunt was called off, can you believe it?" he exclaimed, shaking his head.

"Because of the Stark's boy's fall?" Cersei questioned.

"Yes, because of that stupid boy we all had to come back!" Joffrey cried, as though it was some great injustice. "I was just about to take down a stag when the messenger came. The fall of a silly little boy shouldn't merit the cancelling of a hunt – especially not a _royal _hunt. Hopefully it won't delay our return to King's Landing."

With anger bubbling in her belly, Kenna raised her eyes to look at her brother, hatred heavy in her gaze. She opened her mouth to insult him, but, much to her surprise, her little sister spoke first.

"That's a horrible thing to say, Joff! Bran could be- be dead! How could you say such a thing?" was Myrcella's outburst. It was the first time Kenna had heard Myrcella raise her voice. She had seemed so sweet, so docile. Perhaps, beneath all that sweetness and gentleness, was a girl of steel.

Joffrey towered over Myrcella, a sneer etched on his somewhat girlish, yet still handsome, features. "I say it because I can. Know your place, Myrcella. Little princesses do not chastise kings!"

"You're not king yet," Myrcella said quietly, staring at the floor below her.

His fists clenched by his sides. Kenna looked to her mother, urging her to say something, to intervene as mothers should when their children are squabbling, but Cersei stayed silent, and quietly observed her two children with narrowed emerald eyes.

A malicious smirk soon graced Joffrey's lips. "But I will someday, and you will be punished for your insolence, little sister, mark my words!"

"_Enough_," Cersei eventually intervened, just as Kenna was about to bark at Joffrey. She sent Kenna a stern look to silence her. "Go to your rooms, all of you. Myrcella, bring Tommen to his."

Demurely – they were all demure when it came to their mother – Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen left Kenna's room with their heads bowed. Joffrey was the most reluctant, but complied nonetheless. Myrcella sent Kenna a small smile over her shoulder, and Tommen, upset by what had happened to Bran, offered her a tearful goodbye.

"I should go to them, to offer my condolences," Kenna said. It was all so surreal to her. She stood up, shakily, but before she could stand up straight her mother gestured for her halt and sat herself down on the chair in front of Kenna, the one Myrcella had occupied only moments ago.

"No, sit," Cersei commanded. Kenna didn't oblige immediately, and for a second she was tempted to disobey her mother and leave anyway, but Cersei's stare weathered her down. She lowered herself onto the chair again and watched her mother warily. "We ought to finish this game. Your sister is quite the cyvasse player, I'm sure you've noticed. She has set herself up nicely."

Kenna observed the board in confusion. As far as she could see, Kenna was winning. All of Myrcella's pieces were in vulnerable positions. "Its your turn," Kenna informed despite her confusion.

Cersei nodded. She picked up Myrcella's heavy horse, which was hiding behind her spearman, and took Kenna's elephant, and also placing Kenna in a position where, next go, she would lose another one of her elephants. She moved one of her elephants out of danger, and Cersei took the other one in her next turn.

Her king was threatened, and within the space of two more turns Cersei had killed Kenna's king. She never thought her mother was so skilled at cyvasse. Kenna wondered what else she didn't know about her mother.

"You were such a tiny little thing when you were born," Cersei began in a distracted, far-away tone after neither of them spoke for some time. "Pycelle said that you wouldn't survive the night. It didn't matter much to the council, or anyone really. You were just a girl. Robert was upset, of course, but not as disheartened as he would have been if it had been his heir. I wept that whole night. I prayed with you in my arms – the first time I prayed in only the Gods know how long. I never loved something so much. You may have had Robert's hair and his eyes, but everything else was _me_. When you opened your eyes the next morning, I had never been happier. Robert said that it was that Baratheon fury – their stubbornness – that kept you alive. But I knew – I knew that it was me. It was the Lannister in you, the _lion_. And when you cried, the first time you ever cried, it was a true roar, a _lion's roar_, and I knew that you were _mine_."

Her mother stared into the hearth, a small, rueful smile on her lips as she watched the flares dance. "And I would do anything for those that are mine. For you, for Joffrey, for Myrcella, Tommen too... I would do _anything_. Even if that meant tearing apart Westeros, or burning it to the ground – I would do _anything_."

Kenna didn't know what to say, or if she should say anything at all. Cersei's lips were pressed together in a thin line, her pupils reflecting the fiery heat of fire. It was as though she was trying to convince herself of something – of what, Kenna didn't know.

The queen stood abruptly, and as she did Kenna pushed back her chair and stood too. "I should leave you to get some rest," Cersei said, eyeing Kenna carefully.

And that she did. Only Kenna didn't sleep when her mother left her, choosing instead to wait a few minutes – until she was sure Cersei was a fair distance from her room – before throwing a robe over her nightgown and rushing to Robb's chambers.

The corridors of Winterfell's keep were oddly empty, and the few people she did see looked as heartbroken as Kenna did. In King's Landing, if someone other than the king or the crown prince had an accident, Kenna didn't think anyone would care much.

She pushed open the door to Robb's chambers slowly. "Can I come in?" she asked in a hushed tone, just in case he was indecent.

"Kenna?" he questioned. She took a small step into his room and nodded.

Boys didn't cry. Once they reached the age of one and ten or so, they weren't allowed to cry. Girls weren't either really, but exceptions were often made, considering that women _are _the weaker sex. And so, because of this unspoken rule, Kenna was taken aback when she saw that Robb's eyes were rimmed with red and his cheeks stained with tears. She didn't judge him though – how could she, when his brother was, according to her mother, unlikely to make it through the night?

Without a second thought, she shut Robb's door closed and rushed over to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders and holding him to close to her.

"Luwin thinks that he won't make it," Robb whispered into Kenna's hair, his fingers entangled in her curls. He was trying not to sob, to keep the tears from his voice, but he couldn't quite manage it. "I don't know what to... what if he doesn't make it? He's so young, Kenna. He had so many dreams... he wanted to be a knight! And even- even if he does survive, Luwin thinks he'll be crippled for life! What kind of existence is that?"

Kenna's heart thumped violently in her chest. She swallowed, hoping to force down the growing lump in her throat that stopped her from speaking. "Its still an existence, Robb," was all she could think of. "He deserves so much better, but at least there's a chance he might live. And he has a quick mind – a mind like his deserves to flourish."

Robb pulled away from her and fell onto his bed, burying his face in his hands. "I don't want to think about it anymore. Every time I think about it, I get these images in my head, of Bran mangled and broken." Kenna nodded meekly and sat, silently, beside Robb on his bed. "I don't mean to be so harsh, I just.."

"I know." She placed her on his and offered him a reassuring smile. Robb nodded, forcing a small smile of his own.

"Tell me something good," Robb said, his voice was hoarse from crying. "Anything. Anything at all."

She drew circles on his hand with her thumb. Something good... a memory from when she was younger came to mind, and it put a smile on her face. "Before I left for Winterfell, just a month or two before, I don't quite know how, but from one of our conversations Myrcella, who was only three at the time, got it in her head that I was planning to cook her for dinner. Being as lovely as she is, she even got one of the Kingsguard to get her a pot from the kitchens for me!"

A chuckle came from beside her, and Kenna was glad to see that he looked somewhat lighter. "Didn't she know that princesses never cook, or do anything but sit on their bums and gossip?"

"Excuse me, I do plenty!" Kenna exclaimed, smacking him on the arm but nonetheless letting a huge smile rest on her face. "And I don't gossip either! Anyway, it gets better."

"Oh, really?" Robb raised an amused eyebrow.

"Well, since Myrcella was convinced that she was going to die and had such a flair for dramatics," Kenna started again, smiling fondly at the memory, "she wrote three letters, or, well, she had her septa write them. Septa Eglantine indulged her too much – the woman _adored _her, and so three letters were delivered to me, Mother and Tommen, who couldn't even read but Myrcella said that she wanted something for him to remember her by."

"None for Joffrey?" he asked, and Kenna shook her head.

"Gods no. Joffrey became a little shit at age six, and he was seven at this point." Robb barked another laugh.

"And what did these letters say?" Robb inquired between laughs.

"Oh, they were much the same as every dying woman's last letters," Kenna quipped, waving her hand dismissively in the air. "She asked us to pray for her, and to remember how much she loved us and how much fun she had _and was_. And, of course, to keep Lord Balryn and Miss Higgles away from each other," she dropped her voice to a low whisper, "_because they really don't get along_."

Engulfed in a fit of laughter, Robb grabbed his belly and doubled over, smacking the bed in his hysteria as he did so. Kenna laughed too, not as much as Robb, and smiled at the sight in front of her.

"Lord _Balryn_?" Robb repeated, still laughed. "Where did she get that name from?"

"The dragon Balerion," Kenna answered, causing Robb to chuckle even more. "She was only three in all fairness, and it was impressive enough that she even remembered the name of a dragon."

Another small laugh escaped him before the room became quiet. Kenna held his hand in her own and gave it a reassuring squeeze, all too aware of the thoughts that were probably plaguing him. He turned his head to look at her. In the past week she noticed that Robb looked at her differently to everyone else. Kenna quite liked the way he looked at her, like she was the most precious thing in the world, but she couldn't help but feel terribly guilty. She didn't deserve his love, not when she was so willing to leave him.

Robb pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead, his eyes welling with tears again. "Thank you," he said quietly. Kenna could hear his voice break. She'd do anything to make him feel better, anything to stop him crying...

She edged slightly closer to him. Unsure, she glanced at his lips while chewing at her own. When her bravery waned, when she was about to back away, Robb made the first move and inched towards her, brushing his lips against hers. Kenna kissed him then. The kiss was gentle and soft. It was as if they had all the time in the world, like there was no rush.

Kenna could feel the wetness of Robb's tears on her face, and could only kiss him more in response. Things became faster, hotter, more urgent, _demanding_. Their kiss became less chaste and more wanton, and Kenna felt that familiar ache between her legs.

Desire took over. Robb pressed her body closer to his and Kenna hiked her nightgown up past her knees so she could straddle him. She ground herself against him, feeling his cock against her thigh and becoming surprisingly aroused by the sensation.

He wrapped the lace of her nightgown around his finger and peered up at her through his lashes, asking for her permission. She merely kissed him again and moaned into his mouth, and Robb took that as her approval and undid the knot tying the two laces together. With her help, Robb pulled her nightgown down so that it sat at her waist. Kenna was suddenly very self-conscious. Her breasts were bare to him, and Robb was looking at them with a distinct, lustful glaze in his eyes.

All insecurity vanished once Robb started pressing little kisses onto her neck and slowly moved down to her breasts, and was replaced by pleasure – complete and utter pleasure. Her fingers curled into his hair, his reddish brown locks, and tugged somewhat roughly. Robb only groaned in response.

She removed herself from their embrace abruptly, and didn't look away from Robb as she pushed her nightgown from her waist and onto the floor and stepped out of the pool of silk. She was stark naked now, completely vulnerable to him, and Kenna found that she didn't mind at all.

Robb stood up as well, still clothed entirely. She bit her lip and kissed him again while undoing his doublet. Once she had tossed his doublet to the opposite end of the room, Kenna took a moment to admire his beautifully toned torso. She was about to touch him, run her hands all around him, but then Robb grabbed her by the thighs and carried her to the bed, kissing her all the way.

It eventually became unbearable – the ache between her legs, the wetness, the moaning – and so Kenna impatiently reached for Robb's breaches. "Take me, Robb," she moaned as his lips captured hers again. "Have me – I'm yours."

Just as she was about to pull them down, a hand curled around her wrist. Her lips were cold – it had been many minutes since they were untouched, it almost made her feel lonely – and she glanced up at the figure on top of her in shock. Robb was wide-eyed as well, and looked to his hand on her wrist in shock. He released her hand quickly and stepped away from her, setting himself on the edge of the bed.

Kenna moved beside him and kissed his neck, trying to seduce him again. It didn't work, and Robb only jumped up off the bed and put a few feet between them. Kenna felt like some sort of disease – she was rejected, and _hurt_.

"I- we can't," Robb protested firmly, raking his fingers through his hair and huffing a heavy sigh. "I won't ruin you. If we are not to be wed, then your maidenhead is not mine to be had."

"_My _maidenhead is not _anyone's _to be had," Kenna replied, anger pulsing through her. Anger from rejection, anger from the unfairness of it all and mostly, anger from her maidenhead being described as something _to be had_. "_My _maidenhead is _mine_ to give and I will choose who I give it too."

"So you will share my bed but you won't marry me?" Robb asked.

She was dumbfounded, grasping for words that could be used as a response. "We've talked about this, Robb. Its not my choice, its-"

"_Its your duty_, yes, I've heard it before," Robb said somewhat harshly. Kenna sent him a glare and picked up her nightgown from the floor and covered herself with it. "Is it not also your duty to keep your maidenhead in tact for your future husband? It seems to me that you're picking and choosing which part of your 'duty' you oblige to!"

With the rage her family was known for, Kenna quickly tied the laces of her nightgown and fixed Robb with a glare of complete and utter disdain. "You weren't preaching about modesty when you ripped open the laces of my nightgown," she threw back.

"And you weren't complaining when you started tugging at my breaches!" was Robb's retort.

A strangled cry of frustration escaped Kenna's lips as she threw on her robe and stormed out off Robb's chambers. What had originally been meant as a form of comfort had escalated into a heated row, and Kenna felt guilty for arguing with him and leaving him alone when his brother was nearing death.

Her stubbornness fought with the temptation to turn around and go back to Robb. Eventually, her resolve broke and another sigh escaped her. She knocked on his door softly, and was somewhat surprised when Robb opened the door to her.

"I'm sorry. Its such a trivial thing to fight about, considering..." Kenna trailed off, but Robb understood her nonetheless and nodded.

Robb chewed at his lower lip nervously, as though debating saying something. Kenna's brows furrowed and she smiled a smile that was mingled with confusion. "Will you stay with me tonight? I don't think... I don't think I could stand being alone."

A part of Kenna wanted to say no. To retort that what he requested of her would mar her honour, and since her duty was "to keep her maidenhead in tact" she couldn't bare the stain. But alas, she nodded her consent and smiled at him.

"Of course," she replied.

* * *

Kenna was awoken the next morning by heavy knocking. She opened her eyes drearily, not quite understanding why someone was pounding at the door. Her confused thoughts immediately considered an invasion – somehow, in her dazed condition, she made herself believe that Targaryens had come to take Winterfell. She eventually gathered herself and regained her senses, and realised that the voice calling for Robb on the other side of the door was Lord Stark.

_Oh no. _What would he think, if he found Kenna in bed with his son? Oh, she would surely be disgraced! Even if they were still to be wed, his opinion of her would be forever altered. Kenna patted Robb's chest, the patting quickly becoming rougher when he didn't stir.

"Robb! Robb, wake up!" she urged him in a whisper. "Oh for Goodness sake, Robb! Your father is at the door!"

"'ive more minutes," Robb grumbled. Kenna stared at him in bemusement. _Has he gone simple? _Suddenly, his eyes flew open and his head moved to look at Kenna, shocked at her presence. "Kenna? What are you doing here?" Kenna placed a finger on her lips and sternly hushed him. Robb started to panic. "Father's at the door – he can't see you in my bed! Out!"

Apparently, Robb was just as stupid as she was in the mornings – and grumpy too – because the only way, according to Robb, to keep Kenna out of his father's sight was to push her off the bed. Kenna landed on the floor with a loud _THUMP_.

"Ouch!" she exclaimed, rubbing her head. "What in Seven Hells is wrong with you?!"

Robb winced. "Sorry!" he apologised, having gained enough to sense to realise what he did was wrong. "Get under the bed, just to be safe."

Kenna rolled her eyes, still sore from the pain pulsing through her body because of her fall, but complied and hid herself beneath Robb's bed as he went to open his door to his father. Lord Stark's footsteps were loud as he walked inside Robb's chambers.

"Did you have a good sleep, son?" Lord Stark asked.

"Yes, Father. Sorry about not answering the door sooner. I was sleeping like the dead," Robb jested, earning a small chuckle from his father.

"There's nothing to forgive. You've never had much trouble sleeping, no matter what happens. I envy that," Lord Stark responded sullenly. His tone became cheerier as he delivered the news he no doubt came to give. "There is good news from Maester Luwin."

"Has Bran woken?" Robb questioned hopefully.

"No," Lord Stark replied, "but his condition has not worsened. Luwin thinks that there's a good chance he might survive."

Her heart soared at the news. She would go to the Sept today and pray fervently to the Gods to protect him. The Gods, if they were as septons preached them to be, would surely spare an innocent child, and Bran's survival through the night was a sign that the Gods could indeed be kind.

"Hopefully he'll wake soon then," Robb said. "Has he not stirred at all?"

"Not yet, but if the Gods are good he will soon," Lord Stark commented. He waited a few seconds before speaking again. "Robb, what was that crash I heard before I came into the room?"

Kenna bit her lip nervously, her face scrunched together as she awaited Lord Stark's accusations. Robb was taking his time coming up with a response, surely Lord Stark could smell a lie. "A few books fell," Robb responded, his words said in a rush.

"You don't have any books in your room," Lord Stark said. _Oh for goodness sake, Robb! _What an idiot. "I won't pry any further. I know a young man has his secrets, I'll only ask you to try to behave honourably, Robb."

It took Robb a few minutes to reply. He was probably drowning in embarrassment, just as she was. "Always, Father."

Though she heard the door open and closing as Lord Stark probably made his exit, Kenna was paranoid and decided to stay under the bed, just in case he was trying to bait her out. Robb sat on his bed, the bed creaking in response and lowering because of the new weight. She could hear him sigh.

"You can come out now," Robb told her, and Kenna quickly obliged.

She dusted her nightgown off and untangled her hair before staring at Robb with her hands on her hips. "Honestly, Robb? Are you simple? Surely you must have noticed that there are no books in your room."

"Hey, I was under pressure!" Robb insisted, sighing heavily again to accentuate his frustration. He raked his fingers through his hair. "Its not as though you'd be able to formulate a perfect excuse if your father came into room while a boy hid under your bed!"

"No, perhaps not a perfect one," Kenna conceded thoughtfully, even though she knew such a thing would never happen because her father didn't care enough to come into her room. "But my excuse would surely be better than yours, and it would also be assisted by the fact that I actually _have _books in my room." Kenna glanced out the window. Light was glaring inside. _Oh no. _"Its past sunrise."

Robb's brows knitted together as he observed her as though she had two heads. "Judging by how high the sun is in the sky, its probably almost noon."

"Noon?" Kenna repeated. She felt as though her stomach had just plummeted to the ground. "I was supposed to break fast with my mother just after sunrise! Seven hells..."

"I'm sure she won't mind your absence for one morning," Robb said, a little too crisply for Kenna's liking. She knew he didn't have any fondness for her mother, but that didn't mean he could insult Cersei at any given chance.

In the length of time it would take for one to blink, Kenna had thrown on her robe and was at the door. She turned around at the last moment and grasped Robb's hand in a comforting gesture, offering him a smile. "I'll see you later?"

He only nodded, and forced a smile of his own. With one last smile directed at him Kenna took her leave and dashed out of the room, through the corridors of Winterfell and into her chambers, where Miya was tidying her clothes and books.

Miya's eyes widened as she heard the door burst open, shocked at the intrusion. Her gaze quickly turned from shocked to disapproving once she saw that it was Kenna, her eyes settling on her nightgown.

"Will I regret asking what happened?" Miya asked, pointedly glancing at Kenna's nightgown again.

"Nothing dishonourable, I assure you," Kenna responded hastily, and somewhat bitterly, knowing that Miya, like most, was thinking the worst. She didn't know what had gotten into her last night. Had the events of last night happened again, she wouldn't dare throw herself like that at Robb. Kenna tugged open the laces of her nightgown and allowed the fabric to fall to the floor. "Find me a dress, Miya. Quickly."

Understanding the urgency of the situation, Miya threw Kenna a corset and searched for a dress. Kenna tried as best as she could to put on her corset without assistance, but in the end Miya had to tie the laces and fix the hooks. As Kenna put on her dress in a hurry, Miya fixed her hair into a simple, northern hairstyle with the sides of her hair pulled back.

"Perfect," Kenna commented, assessing her appearance in the mirror and deeming it suitable. "Thank you, Miya."

The handmaiden barely had time to nod as her mistress raced out her room with the speed of a wolf. Kenna resisted the urge to run – she didn't want to embarrass herself – and settled with a speedy walk, which must have appeared strange as well because Kenna was receiving odd looks from both servants and noblemen alike.

She found her mother, Tommen and Myrcella walking out of Cersei's chambers. Kenna's heartbeat quickened. What would she tell her mother? She had never been able to lie to her mother, but if Kenna was to tell her mother the truth, would Cersei believe that her and Robb's encounter last night had been innocent?

The princess knew the answer to that. _Of course she will not. Especially not when she has conjured such a damning image of Robb in her mind._

"Kenna," Cersei addressed as her eldest daughter approached her, looking rather dishevelled with her barely combed hair and her heavy breathing. She observed Kenna, disapproval evident in those cold green eyes of hers. "Where were you this morning? You were supposed to break your fast with your siblings and I."

"I apologise, Mother," Kenna responded, bowing her head in shame. She couldn't bare lying to her mother. It made her feel horrible, but disappointing her mother was a million times worse. "I slept in by accident, as did my handmaiden. Its quite odd, really, that we managed to both sleep in and miss breakfast on the same day."

Peering up at her mother through her lashes, Kenna saw Cersei shaking her head. "That will not do. This handmaiden of yours – she's northern, I expect?" Kenna braved looking up at her mother, and could only nod her response. Cersei's nose crinkled. "Naturally. Well, she will be delighted when you tell her she will not coming south with you."

"There's no need, Mother," Kenna said immediately, not wanting her handmaiden to lose her position because her lie. "Miya's a good handmaiden – this has never happened before, and I know for certain that it won't happen again."

Cersei rolled her eyes, a gesture that made Kenna cringe. She didn't want to annoy her mother. "Your handmaiden, and anyone else who has come into your service during your time in the North, will stay in the North. The only northerners coming south with us are those in Lord Stark's household, and that, frankly, is more than enough."

She opened her mouth to oppose her mother, but a quick glare from Cersei was enough to make her press her lips together and stay quiet.

"We leave in a few days," Cersei stated. Kenna's head turned to look, visibly shocked, at her mother. Surely Bran's fall would allow for a few extra days, so that Lord Stark and the girls could stay with him for a little longer. Seeing her daughter's shock, Cersei continued. "Robert is eager to plough on with his plans to make Ned Stark his Hand. You know your father, he has little consideration when it comes to other people's grievances."

Kenna stared at her mother, so beautiful and golden, for a few moments, feeling a strange, unfamiliar, _bitter _pang in her stomach. _He is not the only one, Mother._

* * *

Tears formed in Kenna's eyes as she left the Great Hall for the last time, having just broken her fast for the last time in Winterfell's Keep. _No. I will return. I must. _She couldn't even manage to convince herself, how could she have ever hoped to convince Robb?

Her hand came to rest upon her stomach as she felt it plummeting to the floor. She had never enjoyed goodbyes – if anything, she hated them. All those years ago in King's Landing she wanted nothing more than to stay in the city as the horse pulled her away, and now... Kenna found she didn't care much for her childhood home. But what choice did she have?

_Plenty. _Well, not plenty, but _some_. She could have ran away that night and married Robb in the Sept or under a Heart Tree. She would have to stay with him then – no man, king or not, could separate another man from his lawfully wedded wife, but alas, Kenna couldn't bare disappointing her family, or disobeying them, and she would bare unhappiness if it meant that she could be a good daughter.

Lost in her thoughts, Kenna felt as though she was being pushed out of the Great Hall by some steady force – water, perhaps. Her illusion was suddenly dismantled as she felt a hand circle around her wrist and pull her backwards.

Alys was looking at her with a face of complete and utter seriousness – worry, even. The expression she wore was an utterly foreign one on her usually happy, joyful face. "I need to come south with you," she stated, eyes glaring with urgency.

"What?" Kenna mustered._ This must be a joke. Alys is playing with me, getting me all worried like this. _A smile came upon her lips. "Alys, are you messing with me?"

The smile fell as quickly as it had graced Kenna's lips. Alys was close to tears, and so she was definitely _not jesting_. "I wish I was. I cannot stay here, Kenna, and I cannot go to my father lest he..." She stopped herself, and inhaled a deep, shaky breath. "Something has happened, Kenna, and I don't know what to do. All I know is that if I stay here, I'll be ruined."

"You'll be ruined? Alys, you're making no sense. Speak plainly," Kenna requested. She dragged Alys into a secluded corner, where no one could hear them. She guessed that this was a private matter that required no prying ears.

"I'm with child," Alys admitted, all in one small breath.

To say she was surprised would be an understatement. Kenna's eyes immediately drifted towards her friend's stomach where, if her words were true, a child was growing. "How?" was all Kenna could manage.

"I thought he was going to stay," Alys explained tearfully, placing her hand on her stomach. Kenna knew immediately who she was talking about. "And so did he, but then you convinced me that he would never be truly happy and Lady Stark wanted Jon out of Winterfell..."

"Well, I didn't know you were pregnant!" Kenna exclaimed, gesturing at Alys' stomach with her hands.

"It doesn't make a difference," Alys replied quickly.

"Yes, Alys. It does. He deserves to know that you're having his child!"

"Stop looking at my belly like I'm carrying a bloody White Walker in there, Kenna – its a baby!" Alys cried in her frustration, her grip on her stomach becoming tighter and more protective. "And I can't tell him. You know how he is – he'd be so ashamed. He'd want to stay with me and the baby, his own happiness be damned."

"And he _should_," Kenna insisted. "You shouldn't have to deal with this burden on your own, Alys."

"But that's just the thing," she started, and Kenna's brows furrowed in confusion. "I don't want to be a burden to him. I don't want him to wake up in a few years time feeling inadequate and resenting me. I can find another way. I would like you to help me, but I understand if you don't."

Kenna let out a heavy sigh and raked a hand through her dark brown hair. "What would you have me do?"

"I don't know," Alys answered honestly with a hopeless shrug. "You're usually better at these things than me."

She quirked an eyebrow at that, wondering what Alys meant by 'these things.' Scheming, perhaps, which would be somewhat true, if only that Alys, being as frank and forthright as she was, couldn't scheme or act in manipulative ways to save her life.

But even though Kenna was, apparently, better at scheming, she couldn't conjure a plan. If she was to bring Alys to King's Landing with her, which was all Kenna would be able to do, her belly would eventually grow more pronounced and rounded and every nobleman in King's Landing would know the truth, and word would eventually get to the North, which Kenna was sure was the worst of Alys' fears.

Another idea came to mind, though she wasn't sure how possible it was. "I might have an idea," Kenna told her. Alys beamed at her, eyes wide and hopeful. "My uncle Renly is a kind man – well, he is from what I remember of him. He's also the Lord of Storm's End. I will write to him before we leave. He could hide you in his Keep until you give birth."

"And what then?" Alys questioned, her tone more horrified than relieved, and her grip on her stomach tightening further.

"_Well_," Kenna started, unsure. She had a good idea of what might happen, and was fully aware that Alys' reaction might not be all that pleased. The princess bit her lower lip. "You might have to give the baby to a- a servants' family, or a farmer's family."

As soon as the words left Kenna's mouth, Alys began shaking her head fervently. "No. _No_. I'm not giving up this baby. There has to be another way, where I can raise my own child!"

"Alys, the most likely outcome of your pregnancy is that you'll have to give your child to someone else," Kenna said, hating herself somewhat for voicing those harsh truths. _But it has to be done. _"Unless you want speculation and gossip surrounding you and the baby, the best way is to give birth to the child in secret and then entrust his care with another family." Alys stayed silent, her lips forming a thin, stern line. Seeing that Alys wasn't about to talk, Kenna continued. "You should write to your father. Tell him that you are coming south with me and make sure to ask for his forgiveness since you didn't ask for permission. You will stay with me until we reach King's Landing, then, if Renly is willing, he will bring you to Storm's End. Hopefully Renly will be willing to help. He is a kind man – he should be."

Alys was biting her lower lip. "And if he isn't?"

"Then we'll have to find some other way," Kenna replied. She knew that there were a million holes in her plan, and a million different ways for things to go wrong, but it was all she could come up with.

"Its not fair," Alys said quietly after a few moments of silence. As a form of comfort, Kenna rubbed her friend's arm. "I don't want to give the baby up. What if it thinks I didn't love it?"

"The baby will have a family who will love him or her, we'll make sure of it," Kenna promised, and gave Alys a reassuring smile. Alys did not return the smile, and did not even try to seem of good cheer. "Its for the best, Alys. For you and the child. You'll see."

"Will I?" Alys countered, her voice laced with bitterness. She set her eyes on the floor and refused to even look at Kenna.

_In time, she'll agree that this is the only option, _Kenna thought as guilt settled in her stomach. How could she possibly separate a child from its mother? _She shouldn't have gotten with child. She should have been more careful. _As soon as the thoughts passed through her head, Kenna knew that she was being hypocritical, for what had gotten Alys into this situation was what Kenna had wanted to happen between her and Robb that night. They were all slaves to desire, and Kenna was grateful to Robb for putting a stop to things before a child could form in Kenna's stomach. Then she would be truly ruined.

* * *

Cersei Lannister observed the servants and masters of Winterfell in the courtyard with a thinly veiled contempt, a sneer on her handsome features. Her husband was ecstatic, having gotten everything he wanted. _He always gets what he wants, _Cersei noted bitterly. As king, Robert's every whim and command was to be catered to. It angered her, that such an indulgent, undeserving man could hold so much power.

Ned Stark, who lacked everything needed to be the Hand of the King from his infallible honour to his non-existent wit, was still to be Robert's Hand despite his son's fall. No doubt Stark would have preferred to stay in Winterfell, even if his son hadn't fallen, considering his disinterest in everything south of the Neck. Stark didn't want to become Hand; it was only his sense of duty to his king that bound him to come to King's Landing. _That would suit me just fine. Why could Robert not leave well enough alone?_

The queen's emerald green eyes scanned the crowd for her eldest daughter, finding her only a mere few feet away from Cersei herself, speaking with Robb Stark. She tried her best to ignore the other voices, her youngest children being some of them, so that she could listen to Kenna's exchange with the Stark boy.

"Write to me, if you have time," the boy requested. He gazed at Kenna with such warmth, such love in his eyes that Cersei almost believed his feelings for her were true. _Almost. _Like all men, he was only interested in her for one reason. Robb Stark would use her sweet daughter up until she was dry. Until she was sad and lonely and without hope. Cersei couldn't bare to see that happen.

With an equal amount of warmth in those blue eyes of hers, Kenna held his hand in hers. "Of course I will. You will be tired of my letters come the year's end."

"I would never," Robb Stark swore, and the little fool that was her daughter beamed up at him.

Cersei was glad that she had stood strong against Robert. Had she simply stood back and let Kenna marry Stark, then her daughter would become a shell of who she was supposed to be. She would become weak, delicate, dependant on Stark. With Cersei's tutelage, Kenna would become a lioness. Cersei planned to carefully craft Kenna into her own creation, to erase any mark of the North from her. To free Kenna from her loyalties to the North, and bind her loyalties to their family, to Joffrey, as they were always supposed to be.

Stark pressed a light kiss on Kenna's forehead, their hands still clasped together. Cersei's stomach churned, her eyes set on Stark in a fierce glare. Kenna was embarrassing the family, by displaying her affections for Stark so openly. _That will not do._

Reluctantly, as if it was his insides he was parting with, Robb let go of Kenna's hand and let her walk towards Cersei. _Where she should be. Where she always should have been. _Cersei greeted her daughter with a saccharine smile.

"Come now, Kenna. We are riding in the wheelhouse," Cersei said, noticing but not mentioning her daughter's melancholic mood. _She will see that this is for the best eventually. _"Your things have already been placed in there. I was surprised to see that your belongings are few."

"You told me to leave all my northern clothing here," Kenna replied, her tone dour as they walked to the wheelhouse.

"Ah, yes I did," Cersei remembered. There would be no need for such heavy clothing in the south, and dark colours didn't suit Kenna as well as bright ones.

As her back was faced towards the crowd of northerners and southerners alike, Cersei didn't see the charming young creature as she approached her and her daughter. The girl seemed shocked to see Cersei, which caused the queen to scowl at the child. She was a northerner to boot, with her long face and her black hair and her grey eyes.

"Oh, Your Grace!" the girl exclaimed, eyes wide. The little chit didn't even remember to curtsy, and it took a stern look from Kenna to remind her to do so. "My apologies. Kenna, I was just wondering-"

"_Kenna_?" Cersei repeated, still scowling at the girl. Perhaps it was the resemblance to Lyanna Stark that made her hate the girl so, but Cersei felt an immeasurable amount of rage bubble in her stomach as she glared at this ill-bred child. "Who are you to address the princess so informally?"

"Alys Karstark... _Your Grace_," the girl added at Kenna's urging.

"Karstark... a northern house, of course. And what is your relationship to my daughter?" Cersei questioned, emerald eyes narrowed viciously.

The girl stammered. "I'm her, well..."

"Alys is my companion, Mother," Kenna answered for her. Cersei fixed her scowl on her daughter. _How dare she inte__rcede? _The queen would teach her some manners upon their return to King's Landing. Though Kenna flinched at Cersei's scowl, the wilful child continued. "And my close friend. I am bringing her south with me, to serve as one of my ladies."

Cersei was indignant. Disobedience... that was all the North had taught Kenna. "Did I not tell you to leave behind all northerners in your service?" Kenna knew better than to respond. There was no use when Cersei was in such a mood. "You are a princess, Kenna. Your ladies should be southerners. This disrespect will not do."

"I do not mean to show disrespect," Kenna said, her head bowed demurely and her eyes set on the ground. _Good, at least she still knows her place. _"The last thing I want is to displease you, Mother. Its only that Alys is such a close friend of mine, that I could not bare to leave her behind, but I swear to be loyal to you in all other matters, if only you let Alys accompany me south."

Her rage quelled somewhat. At last, Kenna was once again speaking like a southerner, with pretty words and an elegant accent. Perhaps making her daughter hers again would be much easier than she thought.

"I will allow this one disobedience," Cersei conceded, her voice as cold as stone but still receiving a smile from her daughter. "But I will not accept such rebellion from you again, Kenna. Do you understand?"

Still smiling, Kenna nodded. "Of course, Mother."

The queen gave Kenna one last nod and the Karstark girl one last glare before leaving the girls to discuss whatever _Alys Karstark _had approached Kenna to discuss. She was pleased, to say the least, despite her daughter's rare show of disobedience. Kenna was coming home. She had won. Against Robert, against Jon Arryn, against the Starks... she had won.

As the wheelhouse rocked and the royal retinue left Winterfell and Kenna gazed longingly, sadly, out of the window at Robb Stark with Alys Karstark by her side, Cersei still smiled.

_I have won._

* * *

_**Author's Note: **This chapter took quite some time to write. I know a lot of you wanted her to stay, and I'll admit that I did too, but I've always wanted Kenna to be more than a relationship, more than a pairing, and I was afraid that leaving her at Winterfell would diminish her character into just a love interest. I think she can definitely grow more as a character in King's Landing than she could in Winterfell._

_Also, I just want to tell you guys that it might be some time before Robb and Kenna get together. There will be relationships for both of them before hand, mostly arranged. I promise I'll be respectful to you, my readers, because I know that some of you probably clicked on the story for the pairing, and I did put Robb/OC as the pairing and I promise to deliver. I just think that this is the best way to tell the story, to establish them both as strong characters before their relationship is cemented. That doesn't mean that there won't be little bits here and there – their relationship will play a major part – it just means that they won't be properly together for a while._

_Apologies for the long author's note. I just wanted to clear a few things up. Tell me what you think and any queries you might have!_


	11. The Proud

**_Author's Note: _**_It's been a long time since I updated, and I'm sorry about that. A lot has happened in my life in the last year and while I won't burden you with the details, I really was too busy helping out and stuff to commit to writing much. I wish I had written more rather than leave you guys without anything but I really didn't have the energy or concentration to. I hope you understand. Anyway, here's the next chapter! Shorter than I would have liked, but I really wanted to publish soon!_

* * *

**The Proud**

A lot had happened in the last two weeks. While Kenna was conspiring with Uncle Renly to sort out Alys' situation, Joffrey was causing mayhem and torment. Nothing really had changed, Kenna mused. Her brother was still making good people's lives hell and their mother was still letting him away with it.

Joffrey found Arya practising swordplay with a butcher's son and decided to threaten the boy with his sword. Arya's direwolf intervened and attacked Joffrey, ripping some skin off his forearm. Kenna enjoyed hearing that part. And then Arya threw Joff's sword into the river. She was laughing madly by that point. Her and Uncle Renly were escorted out of the room. Kenna was embarrassed about that now, but not as embarrassed as she should be.

Of course, Cersei made sure that Joffrey suffered no repercussions while Sansa's direwolf got her head chopped off because Nymeria was nowhere to be found.

That was a week and a half ago. They were nearing King's Landing now, only a few leagues from the capital. It was at this destination that Alys was to leave for the Stormlands with Renly's guards. She was going to marry a lord from the Stormlands who couldn't have children of his own. The child would be named his heir and its true parentage would never be spoken of. Alys was unhappy about being married off to a stranger, but with some persuasion she understood that this was the best – and perhaps only – choice.

She sat in Alys' room, helping her childhood friend pack for her new life. They spoke very little. Kenna was afraid that if she opened her mouth she'd start sobbing. She hated goodbyes, always had, it was a shame that she had to say so many.

"That's everything," Alys spoke, breaking the silence. She looked to Kenna, waiting for the princess to speak. But Kenna couldn't think of anything to say, so she bit her lower lip and tried to blink away the tears in her eyes. All it took was one look at Kenna and Alys had tears in her eyes as well. "Stop it, Kenna, you're going to make me cry!"

Kenna gave a small laugh. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to Alys, grabbing her friend's hands in hers. "This isn't goodbye. At least not forever."

"I wish you could be there for the wedding," Alys blurted. She looked hopefully at her Kenna, silently begging her to change her mind.

"I would if I could. Mother would never allow it," Kenna answered, the same answer as always. For a brief moment, an irritated look crossed Alys' face, gone as quickly as it came.

"I'll miss you," Alys said mournfully, head bowed. She wasn't one to display emotions openly, so it came as a shock for Kenna to see her best friend so upset.

She pressed a quick kiss to Alys' forehead and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'll miss you too. But like I said, it won't be forever. I won't let it be forever." Alys nodded slowly, not saying anything in response. She tore herself away from Kenna and grabbed her bag. The princess watched her sadly. "Will I walk with you to the spot?"

"No. That'll just make it harder," Alys admitted. She squeezed Kenna's hand one more time before she left the small tent that was once hers.

To stop herself from crying, Kenna chewed on her lip so hard she drew blood. She preferred that to crying. She had to attend dinner soon, and no one could suspect that she knew about Alys' disappearance. So she gathered herself, straightened her skirts, and left Alys' tent after making sure no one was around.

"Where have you been?" was her mother's greeting when she walked into the large tent that served as a dining room. The tent was a rich red colour, and decorated with several beautiful, gold ornaments hanging on the sides of the tent and lying on the table. It was a little too extravagent, in Kenna's opinion, since it was used so rarely.

"I was just on a walk, Mother. Forgive me," Kenna replied, taking a seat beside her little sister. The food was still hot so she didn't understand what the issue was. She felt her mother's eyes burning holes into the side of her head as she picked up a fork and knife and began eating.

Kenna was nearly finished her mean when Cersei spoke again to her. "This carelessness will not do, Kenna."

Eyes widened, Kenna looked up at her mother in shock. She placed her fork and knife on the plate and repeated in a higher voice than intended, "Carelessness?"

"Yes, carelessness. Your complete disregard for authority. _My _authority," her mother scolded. Kenna knew better to interrupt her mother at the beginning of a lecture. "If I tell you to be somewhere at a certain time, you arrive early. If I tell you to wear a certain dress, you wear that dress happily. If I tell you to court a man, you do that and more. If I tell you to stay away from someone, you cut off all contact with them and pretend that they never existed! Do you understood?"

With each sentence, Cersei's voice became louder and angrier. Kenna stared at her, wide-eyed and frightened. Without even looking at him, she knew that Joffrey was probably smirking. Probably grinning from ear to ear, the little shit. Kenna took a deep breath and tried to appear unfazed, even though she was terrified of her mother and the way her eyes were currently flashing madly.

"Mother," she said slowly and carefully. "This isn't entirely about me being late, is it?"

Cersei seemed to falter slightly at that, but she still looked a little deranged. What she said next only confirmed that. "If I see so much as a letter being sent to that Stark boy, I will kill him myself."

"Mother!" Kenna shrieked, horrified. Cersei narrowed her eyes at her daughter, as though daring Kenna to argue with her or get into a rage. Kenna knew better, so she merely kept her mouth shut, but she couldn't keep the fear and disgust hidden from her face.

"Why wait, Mother?" Joffrey spoke, his voice malicious as he wore a terrible smirk. Kenna knew that she wasn't going to like what he had to say next. "She's obviously going to disobey you and conspire with Stark. Perhaps she'll even run away to be with him. Best get rid of him now before dear Kenna becomes Robb Stark's little slut."

Both Kenna and her mother gave Joffrey murderous glares, accompanied with snappish commands. "Shut it, Joffrey," Kenna barked as her mother commanded, "Quiet, Joffrey!"

Her arrogant brother reluctantly obeyed, folding his arms together and lounging back in his chair, looking between Kenna and Cersei with his usual smirk. Kenna ignored him the best she could and focused on her mother. She wanted reassurance. She wanted to know that Kenna wouldn't disobey her or leave her for someone Cersei disapproved of.

"Mother..." Kenna began uncertainly. She wasn't use to manipulating someone. Usually she was the one being manipulated. "You know that I would never outrightly disobey you, and I am sorry if I haven't been the best daughter these last few weeks. But I promise that I won't write to Robb if you don't want me to."

"I just got you back," Cersei almost croaked. "I won't lose you again. Not to _him_. Not to anyone."

Kenna stood up and moved to be beside her mother. She knelt on the ground, at the foot of Cersei's chair, and grabbed her mother's hand, giving it a small squeeze. She looked up at her mother and gave what seemed to be a reassuring smile. It felt more victorious to Kenna.

"I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

As soon as she got a whiff of the familiar, foul smell of King's Landing, Kenna knew that she was home. The common folk were chatting and shouting excitedly. It was somewhat sad to Kenna, that something so ordinary to her was amazing to them. She poked her head outside the wheelhouse's window, desperate to see the Red Keep for the first time in years.

It was as big as remembered, taking up the entire skyline. The castle was a pale red colour, with large walls surrounding the impressive fortress and its many other buildings and gardens. Kenna stared with amazement, eyes lit with child-like wonder. A large smile came upon her face as a small, elated laugh escaped through her lips. She was _home_.

She half-expected her mother to berate her unladylike behaviour, but Cersei didn't say a thing. Perhaps Kenna was acting the way Cersei wanted her to. If Kenna was so delighted to be home, then perhaps she would be less willing to leave. Kenna was beginning to understand the way her mother thought, and her life was much easier for it.

As the wheelhouse neared the gate, Kenna forced herself to sit down and took her head out of the window. Her leg was bouncing up and down in anticipation, an action that made her mother smirk.

Soon enough, the wheelhouse stopped moving. Kenna grinned from ear to ear. This was it. Her homecoming.

Following her mother, Kenna stepped out of the wheelhouse and into the southern sun. Good Gods, it was hot. How did she ever survive in this sweltering heat? She removed her shawl from her shoulders, instead carrying it as they were escorted into the Red Keep. Kenna was greeted by many people that she probably should have recognised, but didn't.

One woman she did recognise – Kenna didn't think she could ever forget her – was old Septa Patrys. Her septa had aged badly in the last few years, her skin was etched with wrinkles and her back was hunched. She had to use a walking stick now, too. It slapped Kenna in the face again how long she was really gone for. So much had changed.

"Oh, sweet Kenna," the old septa greeted fondly, cupping Kenna's face in her hands. Kenna smiled, becoming a little teary-eyed. "My, you've grown into a beautiful young woman. I always knew you would."

"It's been too long," Kenna replied sadly as Septa Patrys lowered her hands from the princess' face.

"Indeed, it has. You know, I always wished the queen would have let me come with you," Septa Patrys admitted, having lowered her voice to a mere whisper so no one else could hear her.

"She didn't?" Kenna asked, surprised. Her mother told her that Septa Patrys didn't want to come. None of her household had wanted to come. Had her mother lied?

The septa nodded her head, a sour look on her face. "No. Never even entertained the idea. I was very sad to see you go. You were always my favourite. You were so well-behaved and sweet. Nothing like..." Septa Patrys trailed off, though she sent a pointed glance towards Joffrey. "He never did change."

"No. He didn't," Kenna muttered. _Because no one ever told him that the things he did were wrong. Mother certainly didn't. _She looked over her shoulder at her brother. He was talking to Myrcella and Tommen, a look a disgust and malice on his face. He was probably taunting them again.

"Kenna, dear, who is this?" She straightened up when she heard her mother's voice, instantly returning to her more reserved, appropriate self.

"My old septa, Mother. Septa Patrys," Kenna introduced. Even her voice sounded different. Kenna was beginning to notice that when her mother was around, she turned into a different person. A person she didn't necessarily like.

"Your Grace," Septa Patrys dipped her head in respect. It wasn't enough for Cersei, judging by the look on her face.

Her mother chuckled and blurted, eyeing the septa up and down, "I don't remember you at all."

"That's strange. Because I remember you very well, Your Grace," Septa Patrys replied, a hidden meaning to her words.

Cersei eyed the old woman with distaste. Seeing the anger shine in her mother's eyes, Kenna was sure that Cersei was going to attack Septa Patrys. But her mother backed away from the septa and laughed again. It was cold laugh, bitter almost.

"Of course you remember me. I'm the queen."

"That must be it." Judging by the way Septa Patrys was glaring at Cersei, that was not the only reason.

"Come, Kenna. It's been a tiring day. We should get some rest," her mother suggested. She gave one last look at Septa Patrys before walking away from Kenna and her old septa, obviously expecting Kenna to follow her like a little dog.

She couldn't help but shoot an annoyed look in her mother's direction, but obeyed nonetheless. Cersei was not a woman to be trifled with, especially since only a few nights ago she declared a wish to murder Robb.

"Goodbye, septa," Kenna said and dipped her head with respect. Septa Patrys nodded and managed to give Kenna a lower bow than the one she gave the queen. Kenna shook her head fondly while grinning at her daring septa.

She imagined that Septa Patrys was not the only person in the Red Keep who was less than fond of her mother. When she was younger, she hadn't noticed any animosity between the people of court and her mother, but over the years she became aware of the disdain many lords and even commonfolk held for House Lannister. The courtiers probably didn't show it, but that didn't mean it wasn't there. After all, who would openly show dislike for the _queen_?

Kenna followed after her mother, having to jog to catch up with her. Cersei didn't even turn to look at her daughter, instead choosing to greet her with cold words. "We have things to discuss."

She said nothing in response and allowed Cersei to lead her to their destination. Her old room, that was where they were heading. Kenna recognised the corridors like she was only playing in them yesterday. She spotted the tapestry that depicted the Dance of the Dragons, behind which was a loose brick that swung open when pushed. One day when she was little, Kenna stuck her arm in the gap and found a lever beneath the loose brick. She was never brave enough to actually open it, but she suspected that it led to one of the famous passageways.

The creaking of the door being opened brought Kenna back to reality. Her mother had already stepped into Kenna's old room, and Kenna was quick to follow her. The room was unrecognisable. Gone were the dolls she had spent hours playing with as a child, or the dollhouse that Uncle Renly gave her for her fifth nameday. The wicker basket that Lady Fuzz used to sleep in... gone, as well.

"Strange, isn't it?" Cersei admitted. Kenna's eyes snapped towards her mother. She was sitting at the edge of Kenna's bed, which too was different. "For so long I have yearned to see you in this room again. Until I saw you at Winterfell... I thought of you as the little girl you were when you left. You're not a little girl anymore. You're a woman. But you're still _my _little girl. You know that, don't you?"

"Of course," Kenna responded, taking a seat beside her mother on the bed. It didn't creak when she sat down. Her old bed used to creak.

"No matter what I do. Or say. Everything I do is for you. To _protect _you. You know that too, don't you?" Cersei turned her head to look at Kenna this time. The young princess took a few seconds to think about what her mother was really saying. She didn't understand, truthfully. How her mother could think killing her first love could protect her.

But she agreed anyway. She saw that her mother was in a delicate way these last few days, any sign of betrayal from Kenna would set her off. "I know, Mother."

Cersei smiled at her and grabbed Kenna's hand, placing it on her lap and holding it tightly. "But how can I protect you, if you keep secrets from me? You wouldn't keep secrets from me, would you, Kenna?"

"No, of course n..."

"_Don't. Lie,_" her mother hissed, her grip on Kenna's hand tightening so much it was becoming painful. Kenna whimpered and bit her lip to stop herself from being any louder.

"I'm not lying! Mother, I-"

"Then what happened to Alys, Kenna? Where did she go? You were so determined to bring her south with you, and then you help her leave? Why?"

"I don't know where she went. I wasn't even aware she was gone!" Kenna exclaimed. Her mother's grip on her hand became somewhat looser, and Kenna took this opportunity to snatch her hand back.

"Oh, please." Cersei scoffed and stood up, bringing herself to her full height to intimidate Kenna. "The girl was practically your shadow. You would have noticed, Kenna. Don't be an idiot."

Kenna tried to think of a response quickly, but took longer than she would have liked. She hoped her mother didn't notice. "I did notice that she wasn't around as much, but I didn't think she would have upped and left!"

"So you didn't check her tent? Or ask around?" Cersei questioned. She had begun to pace the room, up and down, appearing frantic.

"No. I didn't," Kenna lied. She wasn't the best liar, though she getting more skilled at lying and manipulating since she started spending more time with her mother. "Why are you so worried? You never even liked Alys."

"Oh, believe me, I am glad that little whore is gone. The stupid little Lyanna lookalike would have caused nothing but trouble here, what with your father eyeing her like a piece of meat," Cersei raged, stopping her pacing for a moment to scowl at Kenna before beginning again. "But that girl needed my permission before she sneaked off to only the Gods know where. The thought that you would have assisted her disgusts me."

"But I didn't!" she lied again, this time she was more assertive than the last. "I swear to you, Mother, I didn't! I wouldn't have, ever. Wherever Alys has gone, I don't care. Because she abandoned me and disrespected you and Father. She only used us for the trip south."

Cersei stopped her pacing yet again to eye her daughter warily. Kenna stared at the ground, pretending to be engulfed in melancholy. She fretted over her mother figuring her out and didn't dare move her head. At least her long hair covered her face.

"Are you sure she's not here, Mother? Have you checked everywhere?"

That seemed to convince her mother. Cersei let out a sigh, her formerly squared shoulders relaxing, and took a seat beside her daughter. She opened her arms and Kenna fell into them readily, resting her head on the crook of her mother's neck as Cersei stroked her long, black hair.

"That stupid girl is better far away from you, sweetling. You'll be glad she's not here soon enough, trust me."

Kenna muttered some sort of agreement into Cersei's neck, holding onto her mother tightly. In the past few week, she discovered that Cersei wanted her children to be dependant on her and her alone. She wanted to be their only confidant, the only person they trusted. Kenna would let her mother believe that she was all Kenna had for as long as they lived under the same roof. It was to dangerous otherwise.

But for now, she had calmed another one of her mother's rages and soothed her insecurities. Kenna viewed it as a small victory against the woman who had been manipulating her for so long without her knowing.

Kenna felt a smirk forcing itself on her face. She didn't even try to stop it.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_What do you think of Kenna becoming a bit more shrewd and sneaky? I was reading some of your comments from the last few chapters on how naive and painfully obedient she is and I was just thinking about this chapter and how much Kenna changes within a few weeks. She's still not able to stand up for herself very well, but we'll see if that changes sometime soon ;) As always, tell me what you think!_


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